


J&H Dinner Party

by bossxtweed



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9862826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossxtweed/pseuds/bossxtweed
Summary: Henry Jekyll has a dinner party and invites Edward Hyde as the special guest, whom he wishes to introduce to his friends and associates. He spends the night transforming back and forth which induces much drama and leaves none of the guests happy.update (3/23/2017): a part two may or may not be in the worksAlso (4/25/2017): this piece will appear in my school's literary magazine!





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry Jekyll has a dinner party and invites Edward Hyde as the special guest, whom he wishes to introduce to his friends and associates. He spends the night transforming back and forth which induces much drama and leaves none of the guests happy. (Accidentally deleted this chapter, oops!)

_6th Nov 1884_

_You are cordially invited to dinner at the home of Dr. Henry Jekyll on the eve of  
__Saturday, the 8th of November. Your attendance would be_ _an absolute pleasure_ _;  
__many long for the chance to make your acquaintance._

 _Yours,  
_ _Henry Jekyll_

Jekyll folded the letter before placing it in an envelope which he stamped shut, skillfully avoiding the agony of hot wax dripping upon his skin. He placed the envelope upon a stack of its fellows and sighed. Everything needed to appear in order for the dinner, including the reception of an invitation by the principal guest; for _respectability’s_ sake, he must act both as invitee and host within his own home. With face downturned, Jekyll called, “Poole!”

Advanced in years and accustomed to his master’s whims, Poole appeared before the door with back erect and hands clasped respectfully. “Sir?”

The absurdity of the situation stunned him for no one, not even himself, could be in two places at once. Or, as was his lot, present two visages in the same location at once.

“Sir?” Poole repeated from the doorway. “What is it you need?”

Jekyll affected a smile and turned to face his butler. “Mail to go out, Poole. I’m hosting dinner on Saturday and I **_must_ ** know who will be in attendance.”

Poole blanched. “That is only two days’ notice, Sir. Perhaps a later date--”

Jekyll shot Poole a withering look. “ _Two days_. Tell the cook and the maid, and send these out **immediately**.” He retrieved the stack of envelopes from his bedside table and placed the lot within Poole’s expectant arms.

Poole accepted the stack with a nod and hesitated a moment before leaving. “Will there be anything else, Sir?”

“No, that is all. Thank-you.”

Poole bowed and took his leave.

Jekyll anxiously awaited the arrival of Saturday evening for he intended to present himself as both the genial, familiar doctor and the smaller, younger stranger. If things went wrong concerning the draught and it failed, or the results were delayed, or the effects could not be reversed... with such risks in mind did he resolve to perform a test prior to the eve’s commencement. He laid a child-sized suit upon his mattress and arranged a group of flasks and other equipment in a semicircular fashion upon the nightstand. “Now,” he uttered, having shut the door, “is the moment to prove to myself the **_merit_ ** of this experiment.”

Firm in his resolution, Jekyll poured a few centiliters of the green liquid into a graduated flask, added a scoop of salt, and tapped his foot while the solution frothed, grew purple, and finally gained a vibrantly red hue. He downed half the draught with a smile which fell as searing pain coursed through him and he reeled, convulsing and biting down upon his lower lip. He crashed into the bedpost with a gasp. The pangs subsided and there, kneeling on the ground with arms propped up and head lowered, rested Edward Hyde.

He could have laughed were it not for the risk of being discovered and having suffered the transformation in one direction, there remained nothing but to suffer the reverse. He attempted to spring upwards but rather lost his trousers, for they had become a pool in which his lower half drowned, and, having shuffled closer to his nightstand, seized upon the flask and finished off the readied draught. He staggered and grew several sizes. His left hand closed around the flask and broke it, eliciting a scream as glass shards embedded themselves within his flesh.

Poole appeared in the doorway a moment later. _“Sir?”_ he inquired, silently noting his master’s state of undress, _“What happened?”_

Jekyll cradled his injured hand in his right, eyes downcast as he motioned vaguely towards the broken flask. “I dropped the flask, Poole.”

Poole stepped forward to assess the damage. “That looks rather bad, Sir. Shall I fetch a doctor?”

“Fetch the _maid_ as well. Tell her I wish for her to merely clear away the **glass** and to keep everything else **_untouched_**.” He fixed his trousers and walked past Poole into the corridor. “I shall be in my study. Fetch me when the doctor arrives.”

“Of course, sir,” Poole nodded and cast a disapproving eye towards the flasks and powders before turning from the room to set about his duties.

“Good day, Sir,” the physician (one not prone to pedantic tendencies) tipped his hat and whistled as he departed, an action which failed to bring Poole any sort of amusement. Jekyll stared grimly at his left hand. He loathed the noticeability of bandages for he could only blame a failed experiment so many times before his own competency came into question. He flexed his fingers a few times, stood, and set about dressing.

Mr. Utterson was the first to arrive. Dr. Jekyll received him personally with a warm grin upon his countenance and a twinkle in his eye. “I am glad you could attend, Utterson. Aware am I that you have already met my guest…”

Utterson’s features hardened. “As I have already told you, I do not like him, Henry.”

Fondly patting his friend on the back, Jekyll sighed, “All I ask is that you _tolerate_ him.”

Jekyll moved away as Poole removed the lawyer’s staff and coat, placed them in room down the hall, and resumed his place near the door.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Jekyll said, satisfied with Utterson’s position at the table, “I must greet the other guests.”

Anxiety overcame Utterson as he listened to the careful tread of his old friend; his encounter with the man of the hour was one which disturbed him to remember.

Ten minutes past the hour brought the arrival of Jekyll’s friend-turned-enemy, who stomped into the house with posture stiff until he beheld the countenance of Utterson. “ _You_ are here too, Gabriel? Was there mention of his _peculiar guest_ in his letter?”

“Yes, there was. In all confidence, I am rather nervous about this whole business,” he whispered.

Jekyll, as he assumed his chair, deigned not to notice their exchange, although Lanyon’s tone only furthered his distaste for the man. Directly opposite him remained an open place and he hoped, as though the outcome were not of his own volition, that his important guest would prove himself agreeable to all those present. He muttered thanks to Poole and drank off his wine, indifferent to the placement of a sixth glass upon the table. A young fellow, with long hair and brown skin, by the name of Harrison turned towards his host with brows furrowed and stated, “Beg Pardon, Dr. Jekyll, but _**where**_ is Mr. Hyde?”

“I did not come all this way to wait upon a stranger,”  added an older, thick-accented gentleman.

Jekyll offered a good-natured laugh and explained: “He’s a very **_singular_ ** fellow; it would be unlike his character to arrive at the scheduled time. Now, if you will pardon me, I must change to meet him.” He rose, regarding not the bewildered looks of the Count or Harrison, nor the displeasure across Lanyon’s countenance, and strode from the room.

“This is **absurd**!” snapped Lanyon, breaking the silence.

“ _Come_ now, Lanyon. Jekyll **_assures_ ** me this will be worth the wait.”

Lanyon scoffed. “I did not come here to _wait_ , Gabriel! I have my own studies that require attention!”

“What do you mean, Sir?” Harrison cut in.

“Dr. Jekyll has fallen from his ways of extraordinary hosting. If neither he nor his prized guest make an appearance within the next five minutes, I shall not hesitate to leave.”

A loud gasp, akin to one newly restored from death, tore through the house and had the member’s of Jekyll’s household exchanging expectant glances.

From the bottom of the stairs, Poole wrung his hands and cried: “Sir? Is everything all right?” He startled at the approach of quick, light footsteps. “Mr. Hyde? Forgive me, Sir- I was not aware-”

Hyde glared. “Make no fuss, Poole, and conduct me to the others.”

Poole’s eyes narrowed. “Pardon, Sir, but where has my master gone? He was merely to fetch you-”

“It matters not, Poole. Tell Cook to bring out dinner.”

The dwarfish man barged into the dining room, smirking, and assumed his seat at the table’s far end. “Mr. Hyde!” exclaimed Utterson, who, with heart pounding, visibly withdrew at a wicked glare, “...a pleasure to see you again.”

Hyde’s smirk altered for but a moment and he teased, “Now, now, Gabriel; no need for _formalities_.”

With cheeks flushed and gaze cast away from Hyde, Utterson gulped.

Lanyon’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the stranger. “ _You_ are Jekyll’s favorite? How _**peculiar**_!”

Hyde made no reply as his gaze trailed around the room, allowing him to appraise each of Jekyll’s guests. Three of the men were unfit to associate with the good doctor: Lanyon, for being a pedant; Harrison, for being a child; Dracula, for being his elder. Of the four men seated before him, only the reserved and dreary yet lovable lawyer belonged.

Hyde laughed at the discomfort evident upon the guests’ faces, eliciting a cry of “Goodness!” from the cook. She stopped, jolted as the other servants crashed into her.

“Don’t just stand there! Set the food down and get out!” Hyde snapped.

The cook attempted to swallow her fear. “O-- of course, Sir. Forgive me. I wasn’t expecting…”

She quelled at a glare from the dwarfish man and took the tray in one hand, motioning for the other servants to do the same. They stared not at Hyde and set before each person a plate filled with vegetables and meat and mashed potatoes before taking their leave. Poole moved to a corner of the room with a weary eye held upon the dwarf. Forks and knives clattered as eager eyes sought to distract themselves from the wretchedly empty place setting.

“This is most unlike Jekyll,” Utterson explained, noting how Harrison bristled. “I am sure he has good reason not to not with us.”

Hyde made no attempt to hide his grin. He cut into his food, voracious in action, and swallowed without chewing, having determined that such problems lay in the **good doctor’s** jurisdiction. Unease shortly became palpable as seconds ticked by in agonizing silence. Hyde’s food remained largely untouched despite the large portion he had consumed.

“Poole,” Utterson finally said, “Perhaps it would be wise of you to inquire after your master.”

The butler sighed, “I was just thinking the same, Sir. I’ll only be a mom-”

“--No, _I’ll_ go fetch Jekyll. Stay here, Poole, and perhaps refresh everyone’s drinks.”

Poole paled at such imprudence. “...of course, Sir. I’ll go fetch a bottle.”

Hyde stood without excuse and dashed upstairs, all the while ignoring the confused gazes and cries which arose from his presence. Locked within Jekyll’s chambers and through influence of the draught, he reluctantly shed the clothes and form of Edward Hyde for those of Henry Jekyll.

“Master Hyde?” Poole called, concerned that Hyde had shut himself up within his master’s chambers. A hasty glance towards the maid distracted him from his purpose but he waved her off, calling again, “Master-- oh!”

The butler withdrew as the door flew open and Jekyll emerged with coat undone and cravat utterly missing. “Sir?”

“I apologize for the wait, Poole,” Jekyll smiled, “I needed to change the wrappings on my hand.” He had lost them during the evening’s first transformation; though they were tight around the broad, sturdy hand of Jekyll, they hung loosely upon the smaller, coarser hand of Hyde. If Utterson’s suspicions were aroused he would alert Lanyon and inquire of the man what might be done to expedite the healing process, a prospect which Jekyll utterly detested.

Poole glanced from his Master to the second floor. “Will Master Hyde be returning to the table? He took an awful lot of food, Sir. More than is fit for one person.”

“He asked that his food be left untouched while he works in the laboratory.”

“Of course, Sir,” replied Poole.

Jekyll buttoned his coat and resumed his position at the table with the nonchalance of a man not ten minutes removed from his own table, causing Harrison to choke on his food and earn a glare from the entire party.

“What was that then, Jekyll? A test?”

Jekyll turned towards Lanyon with a cool expression and responded, “I am not sure what you mean, my dear fellow. If you would be so kind as to _explain_ yourself.”

“Damn it, Jekyll! You know what I mean!” Lanyon snapped, his face flushed. A moment passed before he sighed and hung his head. “--forgive me, Jekyll, but I did not enjoy that young man’s company. Something about him disagreed with me.”

“I do not wish for you to _enjoy_ his company, Lanyon. As I told Gabriel, I merely hope he will be **_tolerated_**. I hold a very strong interest in that young man.”

“What _sort_ of interest?” inquired the Count.

Poole set a plate before his master, earning a polite nod and muttered thanks. The chemist’s gaze traveled from his own plate to that opposite and a wave of nausea sprang forth. He would need to control himself, appear to barely eat, or suffer through indigestion. Just a small bite or two of meat, a few vegetables, and then he set aside the fork in favor of his wineglass.

“Utterson tells me you are quite the accomplished chemist. What manner of materials do you work with?” Harrison inquired.

With the wineglass held a mere few centimetres from his lips, Jekyll smirked. “All sorts, really. It is quite an interesting field of study with much room for experimenting.”

Anger flashed in Lanyon’s eyes. “All within _proper procedure_ , correct? You’re not just throwing things together and **hoping**.”

Jekyll laughed. “Of course not, my dear Lanyon. I would hardly wish to offend by failing to do things in the proper fashion.”

Eager to deescalate the resultant tension, Utterson suggested, “Perhaps an inquiry should be made after Mr. Hyde-”

“ _Inquiry_ , Gabriel?” retorted his host.

Utterson met his friend’s gaze with a pointed look. “I do not think him to be the sort to enjoy food that has gone cold.”

Jekyll dipped his head and sighed. “If you will excuse me-” He stood and left the room.

Once again in his chambers, he stared dreadfully at the flask for several moments, one hand upon the sore spot upon his lip. He had not undergone so many transformations in a single night before; what effects would there be? Permanent deformation? The forfeit of a life of luxury, somewhat removed from the public eye, only for one of a lesser status, always under fear of causing scandal? Would it be better to return downstairs, call an end to the evening and apologize for any inconvenience caused?

No, the temptation was far too great for that. For the fifth time that evening, he threw back his head and consumed the potion, some of which spilled and sizzled and smoked as it devoured the carpet. _Oh!_ Hyde thrust his head backwards and laughed until a knock on the door startled him. “Sir?”

Hyde cursed his size and staggered to his feet only to lose his trousers in the process. He shrugged off the massive coat of Jekyll’s before responding, “Your master has taken to bed, Poole. He _assures me_ it is only for a few moments.”

On the other side of the door, Poole’s brows knitted together. This was uneasy business. Why would his Master go to bed in the middle of dinner with Master _Hyde_ the one to announce it? “It’s the devil’s work,” the butler muttered, “I just hope Dr. Jekyll knows what ‘e’s doing.”

Meanwhile, Hyde finished exchanging Jekyll’s clothes for his own and wiped the blood from his mouth and chin.

“I must say,” uttered the Count, “the scent of this food is utterly delectable. I must have the recipe.” Harrison, seated to the man’s left, smiled cordially despite the unease he felt upon gazing at the Count’s plate, for its contents had remained constant throughout the meal.

Poole returned a moment later. “Dr. Jekyll has taken to bed for a few moments’ repose. Master Hyde shall return shortly.” He startled as Hyde crashed into him upon reentering the room.

“My word, Sir! Where is your coat?” cried Harrison.

Hyde laughed. Let them accuse him for being ungentlemanly and not knowing proper dinner etiquette! “I-” he struggled a moment before exclaiming, “Chemicals! I spilled _chemicals_ upon it, whilst I in laboratory worked,” he spoke slowly, enunciating every syllable. “I had no others, and Jekyll’s,” he resumed the seat beside Utterson and chuckled, “are too much of a pool for me; I have no desire of a bath.”  
“--Beg pardon, Mr. Hyde, but that is not your place,” Harrison said meekly. “That is, you were seated by Dr. Lanyon and the Cou-”

“I **_know_** where I was seated!” snapped Hyde, grabbing up the fork and waving it menacingly. “Should we see how far deep I can inser-”

“Edward!”

The dwarf smirked at his dearest friend and threw down the fork.

“I hope Jekyll feels well enough to rejoin us before all of the food grows cold,” Utterson said.

“As do I,” Harrison agreed, looking more than a bit relieved.

Hyde scoffed and cut into his food forcefully, all-the-while mimicking his Utterson and Harrison under his breath. They all thought they were so much better than him, being of higher standing, clothed in the best fashions available, with myriad companions to grace their dinner table. How easy it must have been! Ignorant, happy, acceptable. Unaware of the truth before them yet partaking in the lie.

His left hand lay on the table, pink cuts visible through the coarse hair, a fact which aroused within Utterson immense feelings of dread as he observed that both men had injuries on the same hand.


	2. Dinner Party Reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyde becomes senseless after consuming more wine than his tiny body can handle; Utterson, aided by Poole and Lanyon, strives to understand Jekyll; Harrison receives more than he ever bargained for.
> 
> if there's an interest in a third part, it would be posted no earlier than June.

EDWARD HYDE positively deteriorated throughout the rest of the evening -- his words, while long and elegant and therefore best suited for the upper classes, slurred together, suggestive of a cheap wind chime’s discordant tin. His chair inched ever-closer to that of Utterson’s throughout the evening. The lawyer recoiled upon catching a whiff of the man’s breath and motioned to Poole, anxious for the safety of his friend lest Hyde, in such an intoxicated state, should deem it fit to remain at the house overnight.

“I’ll see what I can manage, Sir,” Poole responded, warily glancing at Hyde. “But ‘e is in rather **unfit** a state to walk home.”  
  
Utterson conceded the fact and tried to focus on whatever Harrison had asked him.  
  
The fire roared through the drawing room. Its flames lapped at the cracked bricks and tempted those who sat before it into a comfortable sleep. Seated closest to the flames, Lanyon glowed in the firelight, eliciting a soft smile from Utterson. Although Utterson sat in his usual place, he was crunched to one side as Hyde sprawled across the armchair, his head awkwardly thrust backwards and one arm stretched towards his seatmate. Harrison began to doze off but stopped, convinced that eyes lay upon him.  
  
Poole paused upon entering the room for Hyde’s actions were no less than bizarre, and inquired, upon regaining his composure, whether any of the guests required a ride home.  
  
“What time is it, Mr. Poole?” Harrison whispered, not wanting to disturb Hyde.  
  
“Nearly midnight, Mr-” Hyde snored loudly and Poole jumped as the dwarf’s head fell upon Utterson’s shoulder.  
  
“I must leave now,” uttered the Count. “My apologies to Dr. Jekyll, that I leave him without address.”  
  
“I should leave as well,” Harrison stood on shaking legs and excused himself, followed shortly thereafter by the Count.

  
“Have not they heard of _manners_?” Lanyon snapped, slowly standing to assume Harrison’s place. “Though **Jekyll** may have the worst of them all! And then there’s _**this**_ fellow!” He motioned towards the unconscious dwarf. “Poole should’ve cut ‘im off sooner!”  
  
“It is not in Poole’s nature to be _hasty_ , Lanyon; and I am very much concerned for Jekyll.”  
  
Pool reentered the room and hurried past the fireplace. Worry shrouded the butler’s features as he muttered frantically to himself: _“Where ‘as he gone? Where ‘as he gone? He mustn't overwork himself!”_  
  
“Poole?” Utterson inquired, though the Butler was long out of earshot.  
  
“Even his _butler_ can no longer tolerate him!” snorted Lanyon triumphantly.  
  
Utterson merely shook his head and shifted as Hyde buried his face in the lawyer’s shoulder.  
  
OUTSIDE THE LABORATORY stood Poole, whose brow was drenched with sweat as he knocked upon the door. “Dr. Jekyll!” He leant towards the door, straining to hear the frothing of chemicals, the clinking of glassware, the frantic writing of an ecstatic scientist. Yet no sounds came. “Dr. Jekyll!” again he called and strained to listen; again there came no answer.  
  
He was ill--that’s what Hyde had said--that his Master was ill and in need of rest. Not wanting to alarm the others, he had accepted the statement as fact and made no protestations; his Master, however, did not rest, at least not within his chambers. Possessing no key to the laboratory, Poole returned to Jekyll’s remaining guests.  
  
“He’s still asleep, Mr. Utterson?” Poole indicated Hyde.  
  
“Indeed, and I am hesitant to wake him,” returned the lawyer.  
  
Poole nodded and moved forward. “Master Hyde?”  
  
The dwarf burrowed further into Utterson’s shoulder.  
  
“Why not use the poker?” inquired Lanyon with a smirk upon his lips.  
  
_“Tut, tut,_ Hastie; I did not think a **doctor** capable of such sentiments!” returned Utterson. He cast a puzzled glance towards Lanyon. “Besides, I doubt Jekyll would appreciate our branding his favorite.”  
  
Lanyon waved him off as Poole gently shook Hyde’s shoulder.  
  
“Gabriel can merely stand up. There is no need-”  
  
Hyde remained asleep. Poole sighed and shook him again.  
  
“Really, Poole--”  
  
Poole released his hold on the dwarf and snapped, _“Master Hyde!”_  
  
The dwarf startled awake and fell from the chair.  
  
“It is time for Jekyll’s guests to leave; should I summon ‘is carriage for you?”  
  
A pulse shot through Hyde’s head and he stopped in his attempt to move, face pressed against the hard wooden floor. “Hnnnng--no…”  
  
Utterson seized his chance and stood, shooting Hyde a long, pitying look before Poole escorted the two men out.  
  
HYDE scrambled to his feet once they were gone and reeled instantly. His vision blacked out and he cursed loudly. One drink as Jekyll, one drink as Hyde; that was his intent. In practice, however, it was difficult to abstain from indulging in just one more glass and he must have consumed upwards of _**nine**_ glasses throughout the night. Would only his head stop pounding!  
  
_**“Master Hyde!”**_ He **must** tell off Poole; the man seemed incapable of speaking quietly-- _**“Do you need help, Sir?”**_  
  
He turned his head too fast, too fast; Poole doubled before him, then united in a blurry haze; he staggered forward and fell into the expectant arms of Poole. Why must _Jekyll_ hoard the man’s services?--good help: a difficult thing to find!  
  
“--Thanks take, Poole,” slurred Hyde. “I must--” he belched.  
  
Poole merely shook his head and escorted Hyde to the guest chambers. The latter collapsed, face-first, onto the mattress and fell asleep instantly.  
  
POOLE DOZED unsoundly that morning. When he woke, exhaustion clung to his limbs and weight pressed down upon his eyelids. Exhaustion, however, was no excuse for slacking on his duties and he determined to discover where his Master had gone during the night.  
  
“Wild night, weren’t it? Shame Jekyll missed it,” the Knifeboy started.  
  
“Master _Hyde_ stayed the night--Poole told me,” Bradshaw nodded towards their superior. “‘e **indulged** ‘imself, didn’t ‘e?”  
  
“We should **not** speak so of the good doctor’s _**friends**_ ,” reprimanded Poole, “And I must see if ‘is ‘ead requires medicine.”  
  
The men parted on their respective duties, joined shortly thereafter by Cook and the maid. Gossip spread rapidly amongst them upon learning that their Master had fled in the night: perhaps, they theorized, he was part of some secret order, or he had a secret family, or he wished to indulge in some vice presently unknown to them.  
  
Poole’s expectations upon opening the door dissipated quickly. “Master Hyde?” A putrid stench permeated the air, growing stronger with each step taken into the room, and a downward glance quickly revealed the source. “Master Hyde?”  
  
“He left early this morning, Poole; he wanted not to wake you.”  
  
“Dr. Jekyll!” the Butler turned, equally relieved and annoyed. A glance at his master washed away those emotions in favor of concern. “Beg Pardon, Sir, but _where were you last night?_ Master Hyde said you went to bed, yet I-”  
  
“--My apologies, Poole. I went for a stroll and forgot to leave a note. I hope Hyde was not too much trouble?”  
  
“He drank himself to excess and I escorted him here,” he motioned towards the room behind him.  
  
Poole observed the depth of the bags on his master’s sunken cheeks as the man stole a glance about the room. “Did he get sick, Poole?”  
  
“Yes, sir - I was about to clean it up.”  
  
Massaging his temple, Jekyll walked off.  
  
COOK PREPARED a multitude of foods, believing as she did that _Hyde_ would appear at the breakfast table. How could such a _small_ thing need **so much food**? He would eat and eat and eat and a mere _day_ later would Jekyll complain of stomach cramps!  
  
“Are y’ not hungry, sir?” inquired Cook. She offered toast with marmalade, bread and butter, various fruits, a multitude of pastries, as well as coffee and tea. “I could prepare somethin’ _special_ , if you’d like.”  
  
Searing pain tore through Jekyll's skull and he winced.  
  
“Sir?” Her Master had doubled over with his face dangerously close to the table and his eyes closed. She allowed but a moment’s silence before she shouted: _“Poole!”_  
  
The butler ran into the room. A brief glance to assess, and then he spoke: “Shall I fetch the doctor, sir?”  
  
“NO!” growled Jekyll in such a voice as to give the servants pause. Blindly did he stretch out an arm and grapple for a hand. Poole obeyed the command and helped his master stand, his tongue tightly in check while his eyes betrayed a sense of trepidation.  
  
“All-right, Sir. I assume this is _just_ a migraine?”  
  
_“ **Yes**_ , Poole,” Jekyll spoke through gritted teeth.  
  
They moved up the stairs in silence, stopping every few steps as Jekyll’s head pulsed sharply. They moved into Jekyll’s chambers. Jekyll crawled into bed face-first before he murmured his thanks.  
  
“You are quite welcome, Sir-- do you require anything?”  
  
“Hnnnng…”  
  
Poole stared at the ground as he responded, “I’ll take my leave then, Sir.” Jekyll responded not while the Butler took his leave.  
  
Downstairs, Cook stared at the bounty she’d prepared. A wretched, choking sob overcame her and she made no attempt to conceal her emotions from Poole. _“ **Why**_ is he sick, Poole? Wasn’t anythin’ _Hyde_ did to ‘im, was it? I mean-”  
  
“He stayed up late, as is his custom, and now suffers from a headache. That is all.” Poole fixed a firm glance upon her. “Master _Hyde_ slept through the night and departed early - it is **_doubtful_** they encountered one another.”  
  
She sighed deeply. “Should I bring ‘im a tray of food? It’s a shame to waste…”  
  
“So long as the others are provided for; hard-work deserves to be rewarded, does it not?”  
  
Cook smiled and thanked Poole before setting about preparing a tray for their Master.  
  
Several miles away, Harrison breathed a relieved sigh as he hid in a church alcove. That _thing_ couldn’t follow him here - here was he safe from the MONSTER.  
  
Utterson loathed the concept of consulting Lanyon in the open. He knew Jekyll to be a sore subject, and that his conduct of the previous night reflected poorly upon him, yet one detail struck the lawyer as so _peculiar_ as to render necessary a **physician’s** advice. He lifted his cup, took a sip of tea, and but a moment later set it back down and rose, smiling, to greet Lanyon. “I hope you are well, Hastie?”  
  
“If not, then I am certainly better off than that _wretch_ whom Jekyll holds in such high regard.” Lanyon smiled.  
  
A waiter approached as they sat. Lanyon ordered a cup of coffee and a muffin while Utterson sipped his tea and resolved himself to the issue at hand.  
  
“Thank-you,” Lanyon said, accepting his breakfast with a polite nod. Then, turning towards Utterson, he queried, “Now, Gabriel, what is of such _vital_ importance that you asked me here on a Sunday? What of your cousin, Enfield?”  
  
“He had other engagements in town and we have agreed it necessary to postpone our walk until next week.” Nervously did he gaze about him, desirous of privacy-- privacy which, he realized suddenly, consulting Lanyon denied to him whom the lawyer cared for most.  
  
Lanyon slowly lifted his mug, inhaling the coffee’s rich aroma, and took a long sip before stating, “No doubt that wretch has a horrid migraine-- he outdrank the rest of the party.”  
  
“That is a different matter, entirely; Now, Hastie, I must ask… Jekyll has always been _careful_ when it comes to matters of science, yes?”  
  
Lanyon quirked a brow. “ _Careful_ is **not** how _**I**_ would put it.”  
  
Utterson sighed, “With scientific instruments… that is, he never harms himself while experimenting; his hands are never scarred, nor bloody…”  
  
_“And?”_  
  
A heavy sigh once again escaped the lawyer’s lips. “At dinner last night, his hand was bandaged-” he quelled his companion’s bemused disinterest with a glare, “and I noticed that Mr. Hyde had wounds on the same hand.”  
  
“So? That merely indicates that they are _both_ **reckless** with their experiments.”  
  
_“Hastie,”_ Utterson snapped through gritted teeth. He knew not how to address the fear that consumed him. It was unpleasant enough that Jekyll took to bed early and what’s more, that Hyde lacked restraint with drink. And what of Poole’s behaviour? The Butler had seemed absolutely _frantic_ as he departed Jekyll’s chambers. Had Hyde _harmed_ his friend?  
  
_“Calm down,_ Gabriel; I merely enjoyed the company of _**neither**_ of them.”  
  
Utterson’s mind whirled. If Hyde had wrought harm unto Jekyll, his actions would shortly be discovered, and the dwarfish man would gain no reward… He drank his tea absently and listened to Lanyon’s rambling about politics or the current state of the medical profession.  
  
EDWARD HYDE had completely vanished -- no where in the house appeared a trace of him, leading each servant to sigh, relieved, and thank their deity. Jekyll, utterly insensible to the world, knew not of the previous night’s horrors and could repose without worry of incident until a gratingly familiar voice rang from the hall: “If his desire is to remain in bed all day, is not it best to grant him his wish? I have no desire to _disturb_ him.”  
  
Were his head not pounding so, he would tell off Poole for soliciting the help of such a man! The door opened and Lanyon moved into the room.  
  
“-I will be outside if you require anything, Sir,” Poole bowed and stationed himself outside the room.  
  
“Now, Jekyll,” Lanyon removed his gloves in his approach, silently, noting how his former-friend lay splayed upon the bed. “I come because _Gabriel_ is worried, as are your servants,” he nodded towards Poole. “Your butler has informed me it is a _mere migraine,_ but I doubt that to be the cause. You _were_ taken **suddenly** ill last night.”  
  
“I told Poole I merely require rest - leave now,” he whispered hoarsely. Then, after a moment’s pause, “I do not wish to argue.”  
  
Standing near enough to see the red splotches on the chemist’s face, Lanyon sighed, “I _cannot_ leave until I have done enough to assuage Gabriel’s fears. At least allow me to examine your hand.”  
  
Jekyll removed his hand from its place above his head and let it fall off the bed. Lanyon, with a forced coolness, gingerly lifted Jekyll’s hand to examine it. Fine cuts struck him immediately. “You had these cleaned, I take it?” Interpreting his silence as agreement of the fact, the physician gently set Jekyll’s hand back on his pillow. “What caused them, then? A **beaker**? A _**flask**_?”  
  
Slowly unburying his face from his breath-warmed pillow, Jekyll squinted at the physician, trying his hardest not to wince; the pain within his head proving utterly unbearable, he merely stared for several moments before finding the strength to answer. “ _Yes_.”  
  
Lanyon sighed. “I am not in the least surprised.”  
  
Jekyll cursed inaudibly. For ten years had he instructed Poole not to elicit Lanyon’s help; no matter _how_ adept his medical skills may be, there were far **better** physicians who could examine his _person_ **without** examining his _personality_.  
  
“Accidents happen,” he finally whispered.  
  
Lanyon made a noise of disapproval, putting his gloves back on, and, with a forced politeness, took his leave from Jekyll. Once alone, the chemist sank into an anguished sleep.  
  
HARRISON KNEW he _had_ to run, _had_ to obtain sanctuary within those ancient church walls. The _**Creature**_ which hunted him swore, or he fancied it would have, although _Vlad Dracul_ appeared as the **perfect gentleman**. _What does it want from me?_ He wondered. An involuntary shudder ran through him. One more door, and he should reach-- a howl from outside startled the young man and he tripped down a flight of stairs, his face colliding with the rough brick wall and rendering him utterly senseless to the world.  
  
COOK wandered about the house, knowing not what she should do while her master rested. She sought Poole, whose mind was otherwise occupied and who merely told her, in an earnest tone, that their Master would immensely require her services after a day of rest, and that she might aid the maid in the meantime. Oh, how she **_loathed_** the thought of her master in bed while that _beast_ roamed about, as free as he pleased. Such a man belonged only _two_ places.  
  
Deliberately marking her steps, she approached the maid and offered her assistance, silently noting the wariness which saddened the girl's mien. “We're _all_ scared,” she said, hoping to comfort her coworker, “but Dr. Jekyll is **strong** and _healthy_ , and _He_  will look out for ‘im.”  
  
The maid smiled. “Now, c’mon,” said Cook, taking up the mop bucket and following where the girl instructed.  
  
HARRISON staggered through the Church, head throbbing as he navigated dark hallways which reeked of Earth and rotten corpses. He needed to get outside, to ensure that the Creature was gone -- that he could go home, free of worry, and sleep until his terror faded into that soothing oblivion. He inhaled sharply as he pushed open a wooden door and found himself momentarily blinded by the sun; he staggered and fell among the graves, closing his eyes, and let the earth absorb his battered form.  
  
LATE IN THE EVENING awoke Jekyll. His throat was parched, his head ached dully, his limbs screamed from hours of slumber, his body felt coated in grease… pausing in his progression towards the door, he determined a change of clothes unnecessary, for his servants were prone to forgive such transgressions. However improper his attire, his arrival at the table sufficed to light a smile upon their faces, yet did not completely remove their worries. Cook thanked her timing -- she had not begun dinner until nigh upon seven, her Master woke at a quarter past, and the meal, freshly cooked, had but a moment to wait before Jekyll sat down to feast.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Someone was _laughing_ at him, **taunting** him, _mocking_ him; the cold earth filled his nostrils and mingled with the blood encrusted on his cheeks; the laughter drew nearer, grew louder, until it was right above him. Weakened by a lack of sleep and that wretched fall, he struggled to lift himself from the dirt. He barely managed to stand, his shaking legs loath to cooperate, when a large _blur_ knocked him downwards, pressing knees into his chest, trapping him against the earth. Each intake of breath burned through him like a guest of hot air.   
  
Teeth -- _sharp_ teeth -- sank into his neck and he fainted.


	3. Changes & Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrison is discovered outside of the church, weakened and bloody, and Lanyon volunteers to be his physician. Meanwhile, Utterson learns a wretched secret about Jekyll that shocks him to his core.

   People swarmed around the church, speaking cheerfully despite the chill and falling silent upon reaching the threshold, blissfully unaware that the building had failed in its duty to protect until a young child broke from her family and skipped around back to the graveyard. Upon seeing an unconscious man in the dirt, she screamed, producing consternation as people rushed to investigate. Blood and dirt ran down one side of the man’s neck. Closer inspection showed that he _was_ breathing, if shallowly, and imprints within the blood revealed that a _human_ had attacked him. Shouts broke out for a doctor and one appeared immediately, ordering two men to aid him in moving the young man to his carriage; while he took the fellow under his care, he stated frantically, someone _must_ summon the police and should they need him, the preacher was an old acquaintance and knew of his address.

   Safely in the carriage, the doctor hastily retrieved a flask of smelling salts and roused his patient. The man gasped and his eyes flung open. Perplexed, he stared at the doctor for a few moments before recognition set in and he smiled, weakly exclaiming, “Dr. Lanyon!”

   “Yes, William; I am here, and you are _safe_ now.” Lanyon offered a reassuring smile, not allowing his eyes to betray him as he observed the fellow’s neck. There, below the dirt, were two small punctures which he would better examine once they arrived at his home, where he could _properly_ clean the lad’s wounds; for the moment, the doctor could only smile and conjecture that Harrison’s injuries were not _so_ serious.

   An inquiry was shortly made as to who might wish to harm the fellow. Five men and a handful of servants were the last to see him -- of those five, _two_ had disappeared: self-incriminators. Though alarmed and surprised, Jekyll, Lanyon, and Utterson answered each question without hesitance. They _had_ dined with the fellow -- he was Scottish, here to study chemistry-- Jekyll met him at a _respectable_ venue and they became acquainted over several months. No one knew who would want to hurt him. He was naive and without enemies, Lanyon asserted; _Naive for forming a relationship with Jekyll,_ he never added.

   Only _Vlad Dracul_ and _Edward Hyde_ remained as primary suspects. Jekyll insisted that, although he lacked manners, _Hyde_ was no so depraved as that. Of Dracul’s character was less known.

   “Last Saturday, _you_ ‘osted a **dinner party** ,” tested the Detective harshly,  “and _last night_ , ‘arrison was **attacked**! Where **_were_** you?”

   Jekyll met the Detective’s gaze and answered honestly that he had spent the day bedridden, only woke for his evening meal, and never left the house that night. Poole nodded obediently -- _yes,_ his Master was at home all day; he overworked himself more and more frequently these days as he investigated something of which Poole understood very little, but that it excited his Master to a frenzy. And, _yes,_ he knew Edward Hyde-- the man assisted Dr. Jekyll in his research and was a frequent guest at the house. And _no,_ no one had seen him during the day.

   “He likes his privacy, Sir,” Poole affirmed. “I don’t even ‘ave his address.”

   Jekyll promised to contact the detective if anything went awry and to inform Hyde that he was wanted.

   Utterson stood by quietly with gaze locked on his friend. Jekyll could _charm_ anyone, he noted, and cover for one who deserved not such a kindness. Once the Detective departed, Lanyon excused himself, stating that he must return home to check up on Harrison and that he loathed leaving him alone for too long because the youth had appeared anemic upon his departure that morning.

   Three days passed in which Hyde appeared no more and the police issued a warrant for his arrest, believing his disappearance evidence of his guilt. With his absence in mind did Utterson call upon Jekyll. He immediately received an invitation to remain the night and readily accepted, grateful for any time spent with his dearest friend, and they spoke often of their youth, dined together, drank gin, and tacitly agreed as to the unnecessity of Jekyll’s guest room. After dinner, they briefly discussed the horrors which had occurred over the past week. _A tragedy,_ Utterson termed it; _the hinderance of a brilliant student,_ returned Jekyll, before he decided the subject was too grim and inquired whether Utterson should like to see his new wardrobe. Jekyll informed Poole of their intent and led Utterson upstairs.

   Hours later, Poole smiled as he passed his Master’s chambers; he could hear soft whisperings from within-- about _politics,_ no doubt-- and, because he **loathed** to disturb the gentlemen, he passed silently by. Should they _need_ him…

   “Well aware am I,” spoke Utterson, whose body had stiffened as someone passed by, “that your servants respect your privacy, Henry, but I--”

   Jekyll sighed and propped himself against the headboard. “Come here, Gabriel,” he smiled as the lawyer sat up and shuffled backwards to throw his body against Jekyll’s torso. “You have **no reason** to worry-- here are we _safe._ ” Utterson stared up at Jekyll and could not help but smile, too; his worries about Hyde fading as he gazed up at Jekyll’s eyes and the security-invoking confidence contained therein.

   They talked and embraced and melted together into the late hours, falling asleep as a mass of tangled limbs, their torsos bare and Utterson held firmly against Jekyll’s chest. It hadn’t been an hour before Jekyll began to shudder violently. Frightened, Utterson awoke. Was Jekyll _dying_? Should he call for _Poole_? Or **_Lanyon_**?

   “ ** _Henry_**!” he snapped, reaching forward to shake the man’s shoulders. “ _For heaven’s sake_ , **wake up**!”

 _“’s qui’ alrigh’,”_ muttered Jekyll, who was quite content to sleep. _How could such a thing_ **_not_ ** _phase him?_ Screamed Utterson internally.

   “Henry!” he snapped again, finally succeeding in waking him. “You are not well,” he spoke breathlessly and stared at Jekyll’s face, amazed to see the effort with which he strained against the seizure. With eyes wide, Utterson stretched forward to measure Jekyll’s temperature yet quickly withdrew as the sticky sweat which beaded Jekyll’s forehead clung to his hand. Oh, he was _definitely_ not well, and yet--

   “I am _fine,_ Gabriel.” The lawyer made to speak but Jekyll stopped him with an upraised hand. “It is **_nothing._** ”

   “You would **not** grit your teeth were it _nothing,_ Hen-”

   Jekyll rasped suddenly and Utterson could merely watch, horrified, as the chemist’s features altered and shrunk and dissolved into themselves. “Henry!” he cried and blinked and blinked again, but the horror remained before him, worsening every second.

   It **must** be a nightmare--

   If he could but _wake up--_

   Utterson snapped shut his eyes and felt Jekyll, or what was once Jekyll, shift backwards in the bed. _Wake up,_ screamed Utterson, _there_ **_must_ ** _be an explanation!_

   “Gabriel--” Utterson slowly opened one eye to verify the origin of **_that_ ** voice-- and immediately choked back a wave of bile.

   “Please--” that wretched, little man! Had he _harmed_ Jek--

 _No,_ he realized suddenly, _he had not_ **_harmed_ ** _Jekyll, he--_

   “Allow me to explai-”

   “It is late and I must go,” Utterson turned around, sat up, stared at the floor before him. He had never before noticed its rich coloring--

   He listened as a mass of fabric sank to the floor and turned to see Hyde buttoning Jekyll’s shirt. He caught Hyde’s gaze. “Gabe-”

   “It is late and I must go,” repeated Utterson, whose throat felt tight. “I must go,” he stood and dressed, not sparing a glance towards Hyde as he left the room. His mind whirled with every step he took.

   Once home, Utterson lit a lamp and sat at his desk. Sleep evaded him. He felt, more than thought, that sleep would not come no matter how hard he wished it, and what he most desired was that obliterating sleep which could soothe one’s fears and dismiss one’s worries. Contemplating for a moment, he opened a drawer in his desk, retrieved a pen and paper, and began to write.

   A week elapsed since Harrison’s attack. Its effects showed heavily on Lanyon, who refused to see patients but in their own homes and who had acquired a sickly paleness which worsened with the passing days. After nearly fainting during a visit to Utterson, he murmured vaguely about transfusions and a persistent lightheadedness resultant from his efforts to heal Harrison. Lanyon had slept not well as the week progressed. Following a transfusion, it was necessary to maintain a close watch upon the patient, who improved for a few hours before the disease returned with the ferocity of a feral dog.

   Noticing that Harrison regained a ghostly pallor after but a few hours, Lanyon determined to wait and observe before attempting the procedure again. He must have donated too much, or else not waited long enough between attempts; Harrison’s cheeks grew momentarily rosy, his eyes sparkled, he could move without pain; yet Lanyon staggered from the room, crashed to the floor, and barely composed himself enough to set about his appointments. His servants sent their regrets-- their master had a rather _peculiar_ case, one which drained his very core, and would readily meet them once his health was restored.

   He had gathered what little strength he possessed for that visit to Utterson. Not upon the threshold, but within the hall did he faint-- and Utterson, possessing of no smelling salts, shook his friend awake with a great amount of concern. “Perhaps, Hastie, you should seek _help_ in order to cure Harrison. **_Your_ ** health should not suffer so.”

   And though he agreed, Lanyon stated firmly that he was perfectly capable of handling the case on his own.

   “I am afraid, Doctor,” rasped Harrison as he lay in bed with eyes half-closed. “I…”

   Lanyon hushed him, felt his forehead, pulled the blankets over his weakened form and told him not to strain himself; once he recovered, there would be time for conversation; now must he rest. It was now nearly a _fortnight_ since Harrison was attacked and the cause of his decline continued to elude Lanyon. He simply was losing too much blood. Nothing that the doctor attempted produced anything but a _transitory_ effect upon the lad and he could merely watch as his health grew ever worse.

_“Please… write my aunt…”_

   “Do not strain yourself,” Lanyon repeated. “You must--”

   Harrison gasped suddenly and his eyes grew wide as he struggled for breath. “H-” his voice trailed off and he stared vaguely up at Lanyon, although he may have been staring _through_ him, and then a glaze appeared over his eyes and a suffocating stillness came over the room.

   “William?” queried the doctor, who felt certain his heart had skipped a beat. He leant forward, listened for even the faintest hint of breath, attempted thrice to discover a heartbeat, gently shook the lad’s shoulders, all before leaning back, running a hand over his face, and calling for his butler. They promptly alerted the proper authorities and arranged a funeral where they buried him in a wooden, undecorated box amongst strangers and shut his eyes so as to conceal whatever _horror_ lay trapped therein, only breathing a sigh when the matter was done away with.

   A group of dirt-coated men patrolled the graveyard, wearily waiting lest anyone with ill-intent arrive and violate the dead as they rested. In the distance charmed the bell of a church: two o’clock. Buried deep within the earth, Harrison groaned, his eyes springing open to reveal the musty blackness above. The scent of earth filled his nostrils and weighed down upon him. He moved an arm, and then–

   “Over ‘ere!” came a rough shout from above. “I think we got one!” They had heard him, they were going to rescue him – by _mistake_ was he buried, for he was always such a **healthy** man– yet hunger weakened him, that was all. A _student_ could not afford food, and he must have fainted–

   “Wait,” commanded a rough voice. “This one’s dated a week ago– ‘e should be _dead_.”

   “I say we open it,” added a third voice, “even _if_ nothing comes of it.“

   Their Superior gave commands; he sensed that they walked away and returned aeons later with shovels to begin digging. They spent several moments shouting while Harrison waited and waited. Surely, they would have food which he could eat? He wondered again about that creature– and shuddered.

   “Oi! Lad!” That rough voice tore through his musings. He reopened his eyes and stared up at the age-hardened countenance of his savior. “Are y’ alright?

   He was repulsive, Harrison noted; and yet his mouth nearly watered at a sickly-sweet smell which emanated from the man. Three pairs of hands grabbed him, to help him stand, but it wasn’t necessary– acting on instinct, Harrison twisted one of the men around and yanked him forward, one hand wrapped round the man’s neck, and sunk his teeth into that hardened flesh, allowing warm, savoury liquid to flow past his lips. The other men ran away in terror lest Harrison turn on them, too.

   His gnawing hunger abated, Harrison tossed aside the limp corpse and set off for his doctor.

   Lanyon’s butler woke to the sound of an electric buzz and dutifully opened the door. “It is quite early, Sir--”

   “But I _must_ speak with the doctor,” returned Harrison, who lingered upon the threshold. “Summon him for me.”

   The butler paled. “Of course, sir--” He stared for a moment at the blood which coated Harrison’s mouth before turning and retrieving his master.

   Lanyon blanched at the sight of Harrison.

   “Doctor,” Harrison snarled, leaning forward yet remaining outside, “I need your _help._ ”

   Exchanging a quick glance with his butler, Lanyon stepped aside, whispering, “Of course, William; come in…”

   A smile broke across the youth’s countenance as he made for Lanyon’s throat.

   While Utterson had not seen Jekyll for over a fortnight, he _had_ received a sizeable stack of letters from the man. The one which lay before him was the fifth such letter, the first having arrived but a day after that fateful night; he feared to open them because he expected partial excuses and half-truths which would only produce more questions than answers.

   “You haven’t opened them yet?” queried Guest, who gestured towards the stack of envelopes which bore, in the neat writing of Jekyll, the lawyer’s name.

   “No, Guest,” returned Utterson a little distractedly. He had been unable to think of that night without feeling an amalgam of conflicting emotions -- fear and confusion and disgust, primarily -- and felt himself _unfit_ to confront Jekyll without allowing his emotions to best him. “I have been far too busy.”

   Sensing the necessity of a fresh subject, Guest asked about Harrison’s fate. Had Utterson read the papers? _Yes_ , and he found the notion that a man should remain alive for a week while buried six feet into the earth an _impossible_ one, and quickly dismissed it before politely requesting silence so he could review the particulars of his current case. Guest allowed the request and set aside the newspaper in favor of a paper file. Once satisfied that his clerk was otherwise engaged, Utterson grabbed up the envelopes and began to read.

   Jekyll apologized profusely in each letter; he **never** meant to hurt Utterson; it was _always_ his attention to inform him of the truth, once he could scientifically describe the transformation; above all, he was anxious lest he lose his dearest friend and hoped they could meet soon. _I wish to explain what happened, Gabriel and I_ **_cannot_ ** _do so in a letter. Your presence is sorely missed here and I would greatly appreciate your company at dinner this Thursday…_ That day had passed-- Thursday, the nineteenth-- and, while he knew the _polite_ thing would be to respond, apologize for his neglect, and arrange a dinner, no longer was the prospect a pleasant one.

   A sudden movement by Guest jerked him from his thoughts and he rose, excused himself, and set off for Lanyon’s.

   Warily did Lanyon open the door, mumbling something about having excused his servants for the weekend as his current patient was gravely _ill_ and he feared the cause to be some unknown and highly infectious pathogen. He pressed a small, white leaf into Utterson’s palm before admitting him to the parlor. “We must be _quiet--_ I **_loathe_ ** to wake him…”

   Momentarily forgetting his purpose for visiting, Utterson inquired if Lanyon had heard the news about Harrison. Lanyon blanched. “I declared him dead-- it harms my reputation, that I should have been responsible for burying a young man who was not dead-- did you hear what _Jekyll_ said at his funeral? He found it **proof** of my _‘incompetency’_ and told anyone who would listen--” He trailed off as something crashed above. “Have you got the time?” he asked suddenly.

   Utterson examined his watch. “It is 7:58 and the sun is setting--is there someone upstairs?”

   Lanyon reached up and placed a hand on his neck, eyes flicking nervously to the ceiling before he managed composure. “Perhaps you should _leave_ now, Gabriel-- he is **_not_** a **sociable** _creature…_ ”

   “I must go out, doctor,” interjected a youthful rasp, “now that your servants are gone…”

   Utterson startled at the voice and stared, bewildered, at the _spectre_ that walked down stairs and appeared nearly equally surprised to see him. “I was not aware you had a _guest,_ doctor…”

   “Leave us and I will not question your actions of tonight,” Lanyon commanded, first clenching at his side.

   Harrison had lost something of that youthful charm, Utterson noted; the youth appeared paler, with a darkness about his eyes, and his tone towards Lanyon reflected utter disrespect for his authority. Lanyon, also, had changed. He appeared as fear incarnate, with exhaustion clinging to this very being. The two men exchanged glances for several agonizing moments, and then Harrison left without another word.

   “What ails him?” questioned Utterson once both men sat opposite Lanyon’s fireplace. “I have heard of men being _buried alive,_ and yet--”

   Refusing to meet Utterson’s gaze, Lanyon sighed and theorized, “There are… _several_ potent drugs which may mimic the signs of death. When he was under my care, he lost a lot of blood and quickly did I realize that he would not survive--”

   “Hastie, you didn’t…?”

   “No!” returned the doctor, leaping forward in alarm. “I did _all I could,_ Gabriel, and still I watched as he died.”

   Utterson could not understand how Harrison survived a week without food or water or sunlight and it became quickly evident that Lanyon could not, either. After several moment’s silence, Utterson began to question Lanyon about drugs which could alter a person’s physical structure. Was it possible for a person to shrink and morph and melt? Perhaps, if they possessed chemical knowledge? In response, Lanyon examined Utterson’s eyes and mouth, felt his forehead, and asked whether he had lately consumed anything of suspicious origins.

   “I am _well_ , Hastie, although I have lately learned something startling about Jek-”

 **_“Jekyll?”_ ** repeated Lanyon. “I have not spoken to him since the funeral, and his affairs are the _least_ of my concerns.”

   “But he and Hyde--”

   Lanyon must not have heard him, for he stared into the fire and began speaking softly.  “He arrived last night and made for my throat-- I noticed immediately that his teeth were longer, sharper… my cook walked past before he could puncture my flesh and I watched as he recoiled, _gagging_ , at the white plant in my servant’s hand. I have kept a leaf on my person every since.”

   Realization dawned on Utterson. _“Vampires,_ Hastie? Was it **_not_** **you** who said that Jekyll had grown too fanciful?” Lanyon sighed, shook his head but did not answer, and stared into the fire with a mix of exhaustion and contemplation. Feeling more distraught than he had upon his arrival, Utterson wished his friend good health and excused himself.

   While Lanyon had spoken of Harrison, Utterson reached a resolution: that he should confront Jekyll about his actions, and that he should do everything in his power to help him recover.


	4. In the Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts with the previous chapter's events retold from Jekyll's point of view with a glimpse at Harrison's funeral and a bit about who he was while alive.

On the night of November 13th, Henry Jekyll went to bed as himself, comforted by Utterson’s weight upon his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his skin… if he could but _live_ in that moment forever! He had even neglected the draught, having consumed too much of it nearly a week previous, and felt himself more than capable of warding off the change without it. Besides, _Utterson_ was with him and if he focused on _this_ moment…

Only afterwards did he suppose it apt-- he must have grown _too_ comfortable, because he had just drifted off when his dreams altered and he heard a voice shouting his name. _“Henry!”_ Then was he shaking, both of his own accord and by a gently placed hand, but he wanted to remain asleep in that glorious moment-- _“For heaven’s sake, wake up!”_

He had before felt such sensations while he slept, but if he _remained_ asleep, it was possible they would pass without issue. _“It’s quite alrigh’,”_ he muttered, despite the sticky warmth which broke across his forehead and the convulsions which overtook his body. Gritting his teeth, he finally managed to open his eyes as Gabriel again shouted his name.

“You are not well,” stated Utterson, who appeared simultaneously awed and horrified. His horror only increased after he measured Jekyll’s temperature.

Attempting to comfort his dearest friend, Jekyll offered what he _hoped_ to be a smile, although he could _not_ stop convulsing, and said, in a strained tone, “I am _fine,_ Gabriel!” Noticing that Utterson made to speak, Jekyll raised a hand to stop him and stated, “It is **_nothing._** _”_

Utterson made a sound, a strange mixture of a laugh and a cry, while Jekyll struggled to maintain himself-- he had time yet to run to the laboratory, mix the formula, suppress that _wretched_ part of his nature, and return to Utterson. Perhaps he could explain the _seizure_ , but he could _not_ explain **Hyde**. Not in simple, _nor_ in scientific terms could he explain that man’s existence and because he dreaded to alienate Utterson, he forced a smile around gritted teeth and fought against the inevitable.

Aeons passed before Utterson replied, “You would not grit your teeth were it _nothing,_ Hen--”

 _No._ No, no, no; the seizure was too powerful and no amount of willpower could suppress it. He gasped, his lungs burning with each intake of air, and quickly tore his gaze away from Utterson because he did **_not_ ** want this-- _one day,_ surely-- but he--

He could breathe without struggle!

_“Henry!”_

Jekyll’s heart sank at the exclamation and he tore his gaze from his hand to watch as Utterson blanched and pulled away from him. Shifting backwards to rest against the headboard, he called out, “Gabriel--”

Cautiously, Utterson opened an eye and appeared all the more repulsed for having done so. “Please-” _just listen, hear me out, I can explain…_ but words failed him. He could feel Utterson pulling away; he was falling out of the lawyer’s favour; and nothing he could say would better the situation… “Allow me to explai--” he stopped as Utterson turned around. _I lost him,_ he thought; _I lost him._

“It is late and I must go,” stated Utterson. While he stared at the floor, Hyde stood and lost his trousers and grabbed Jekyll’s shirt to cover his deformed body. Utterson turned round. Their eyes met and he again attempted to explain. “Gabe--”  
  
“It is late and I must go,” the lawyer repeated, “I must go.” Helplessly did Hyde watch Utterson leave.

 _Now you’ve done it,_ he thought, and tiptoed from the room to the laboratory. He shut and locked the door, concocted the tincture, and downed _quadruple_ the normal dosage, knowing well he risked death yet not caring if that were the outcome.

Poole had rather hoped to encounter Utterson the next morning when his Master sat for breakfast-- Jekyll always appeared _content_ when Utterson was around, but both the guest and master chambers were vacant with no note left to explain Jekyll’s absence. “I suppose he is in his laboratory?” suggested Cook, who had yet to begin breakfast. “But Mr. Utterson?”

“I think they got into an argument last night,” chirped the maid. “I woke in the middle of the night because I thought I heard _screaming--_ ”

 _“I_ think **_Hyde_ ** ‘as somethin’ to do with it,” Bradshaw interjected. “He **always** appears at the _worst_ times!”

“You don’t think…?”

Bradshaw glared at the knife-boy as Poole walked past with a pair of trousers in hand.

“What’s _that_ about, then?” questioned the Maid while the others appeared just as confused.

Jekyll had awoken with a furious headache. His throat was parched and his limbs screamed furiously as he pushed himself up from the cold floor. But, no, he could _not_ leave the room, not in his present state of undress, so he called out for Poole, barked orders which compounded his headache, and waited until the man returned with the requested items. He  changed quickly and thought. _What could be done?_ Utterson would not talk to him while his mind was still in shock; he would need to write him, and perhaps consult his cousin or clerk or anyone he might be on familiar terms with (even that _awful_ pedant).

“Sir?” Poole whispered, tearing his Master from his thoughts. “If you don’t mind my asking, _where_ is Mr. Utterson? I thought he meant to stay with you…”

Jekyll sighed and cast his gaze away from Poole as he spoke, “He _had_ to **leave** , Poole...” A sudden, sharp pain seared through his skull and he winced, lifted a hand to his forehead, and leant against the wall with his eyes closed before saying, “I _must_ **rest** , Poole…”

“Of course, Sir,” Poole replied and reached forward to wrap an arm around Jekyll’s back. With a feeling of pride at having such a task, yet nonetheless concerned for his Master’s health, Poole escorted Jekyll to his chambers and told him to call should he require anything. Then, satisfied that his Master was at rest, he went off to supervise the others.

Try as he might, Jekyll could not sleep. Utterson filled his thoughts. He could still feel the warmth which had existed as the lawyer lay in his arms, along with the comfort and contentedness, until he remembered the seizure and the horror that resulted as Hyde rose from slumber. Though his eyes were now open, Jekyll could still see Utterson’s horror-stricken countenance. The recollection made his heart sink.

After an hour he rose, splashed water on his face, and sought out Cook, for he needed a clear head and pain-free stomach with which to write Utterson.

And he wrote.

His meals grew fewer, his face paler, his eyes appeared shadowed as he sat before his desk, staring at blank parchment or otherwise writing furiously until his hand ached and his vision blurred. _Will he read these?_ The thought gave him pause. Really, Utterson had _every right_ to shut him out and he could _not_ expect any amount of pleading to change that.  Ink dripped onto his fingers as he sat, startling him, and hastily he returned the quill to its well, clenched his hand into a fist to not drip on the floor, pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, and dried his hand. While the desk and floor were entirely dry, drops of ink obscured portions of the letter and he sighed, retrieved a fresh parchment, and began to rewrite the letter.

“Sir?” Cook called. A week had passed and her Master appeared no happier; the issue with Utterson continued to shroud the house in darkness. Her gaze darted nervously about as she stood before the laboratory door-- he was not in his chambers and that _wretch_ had yet to make an appearance-- when the front door opened and a laugh roared through the house. Alarmed, Cook ran to investigate and found her Master in the entryway with the day’s newspaper and a wide grin upon his countenance.

“Goodness!” she exclaimed, stepping back as Poole removed their Master’s coat. “What good news?”

Jekyll’s grin faded into a mien of sorrow as he announced, “Harrison is dead.”

The servants exchanged a glance before Cook stated, “I’m sorry, Sir, but I don’t follow…”

 _“Poole_ knows how I feel about Lanyon’s abilities-- have _not_ I said that he is an **incompetent** _fool_?”

Startled, Poole replied, “Yes, Sir; I seem to recall…”

Both servants drew back as Jekyll laughed again. “I shall have to write him-- excuse me,” he charged upstairs, paper in hand, and locked himself in his chambers.

A moment of stunned silence passed before Cook asked, “What does that mean, Poole?”

“He is in shock-- he needs room to grieve, and we should allow him that.”

Cook stared ahead and nodded. “Of course, Poole. I’ll-- I’ll see if the others need help.” She walked off as Poole placed their Master’s coat in the closet.

 _He is in shock,_ she told herself, although that wicked grin had reminded her awfully of Hyde. The very thought made her shudder.

Jekyll arrived on the advertised date and quickly noted how few others were present: an aunt or two, some uncles, perhaps a handful of cousins, but mostly fellow students, along with Lanyon and Utterson. He quirked a brow at two women, one of whom _must_ be around his age while the other appeared about eighteen. The elder woman comforted the girl in a soft yet decidedly Scottish tone, offering, from what he could gather, help and warning **against** _undue_ stress lest a disastrous and undesired outcome result. Excusing himself, he moved quietly past and took a seat in the second row. He stared across the aisle. There, in the front row, sat his dearest friend and that _awful_ pedant, both with bowed heads and somber expressions.

The eulogies blended into each other; Harrison was a happy, loving child, dedicated to his studies; he loved fiercely those members of his family who cared for him, forgave those who wronged him; he would be sorely missed… with gaze fixed upon the pulpit, Jekyll blocked out most of the oratories until the young woman he’d noted earlier burst into tears as she spoke. Lanyon and the older woman escorted her from the room before the rabbi announced a short recess. Ten minutes, he announced, and the burial would begin.

“Jekyll,” Lanyon said, exhaustion hanging about him like a thick cloak, “I am _glad_ you were able to come-- Harrison was to begin working under you soon, was he not?”

Jekyll solemnly replied, “If you refer to his apprenticeship then _yes;_ however, since _you_ could not save him, **I** have lost a _brilliant_ pupil.”

“Now is **_not_ ** the time for our _petty_ squabble-- William’s aunts and uncles are here, as is his fiancee, and the poor girl is under _enough_ stress without **you** causing a scene.”

Jekyll smiled then said, _“Forgive me,_ Lanyon… I forgot how _horrible_ it must have been to watch as such a **_youthful_ ** lad wasted away…” He stopped as Utterson walked past, whispering to the girl and Harrison’s aunt. On a sudden impulse, he cried, “Gabriel!”

The lawyer started, apologized to the women, and continued walking without regarding Jekyll. Harshly, Lanyon said, “He wishes not to speak with you, Jekyll; he told me so himself.”

Both men exchanged glances until the rabbi announced the start of the burial. “Let us be _civil,_ Jekyll, and honor Harrison.”

Jekyll nodded. Yes, he was there to pay his respects towards a brilliant young student; if Utterson required more time, he would not press the issue further.

A week later, Bradshaw pressed through a crowd to better hear a newsboy’s shoutings. From all directions could he hear confused mumblings-- a man was buried alive and had attacked his saviours; but _no_ , he _wasn’t_ a **man** because he bit the fellow’s throat, drank his blood, left him for dead… having reached the newsboy, Bradshaw asked, “What’s all _this_ about, then?”

“There’s a **_vampire_ ** in London!” shouted the lad. He handed a paper to Bradshaw, who read swiftly--

_A week ago, a young man from Scotland died of a mysterious illness, yet it has been reported that he emerged from his grave early this morning…_

“They’ll be goin’ after the _doctor_ next!” exclaimed the boy.

Bradshaw glared at the boy before continuing: _pale, as though drained of blood-- seen walking towards Cavendish square-- police are investigating--_ The footman started away until the boy called, “Oi! Where’s my money?”

He paid the required sum before running towards Jekyll's home, knowing he would appreciate the news-- _his pupil still lived!_ \-- and hoping it would suffice as a distraction from whatever had happened with Utterson.

“Dr. Jekyll!” he cried, running into the house and slamming the door behind him.

Startled, Jekyll emerged from his chambers and ran down the stairs with mouth agape and eyes wide as he regarded his footman. “What is it, Bradshaw?”

While the man took a moment to catch his breath, Jekyll’s other servants appeared to investigate the shouting. _“What is it,_ Bradshaw?” repeated Jekyll.

“The paper-- have you seen this morning’s paper?”

HIs Master gave a firm shake of his head and held out an expectant hand. Flushed with pride, Bradshaw handed over the rolled-up newspaper and waited while Jekyll read, then suddenly gave a pleased cry: “Hah! I _knew_ it!”

Bradshaw nodded while his coworkers stared puzzedly at him.

“What happened, Sir?” the maid finally asked.

Jekyll grinned as he regarded his servants. “William Harrison _rose from his grave_ this morning-- Lanyon will have **_questions_ ** to answer, will he not?”

“How is such a thing possible?” asked the maid.

“They say _vampires_ are involved-- and they’re _coming_ for **you**!” Bradshaw exclaimed, lunging towards her with hands extended and fingers curled into claws.  
  
**_“Enough!”_** exclaimed Jekyll, stepping between them. He glared at Bradshaw. “I _must_ write Lanyon, and I will tolerate _no more_ of this **chatter** about _‘vampires’--_ **_Poole_** will tell me if this _nonsense_ continues--”

“Of course, Sir,” replied the Butler with a nod. “There will be **_no_ ** talk of ‘vampires.’” Jekyll returned to his room after the others nodded their assent. They ignored his laughter and set about their work.

Harrison wandered down the street, aware of the eyes which bore into him. _There ‘e is,_ they would whisper, _there is the MONSTER._ They all covered their throats and pulled their children tighter before escorting them away, never once daring to make eye-contact. He stopped. Oh, even in _grief_ was she still beautiful, with her brown skin and curly hair, and the softness about her features… A chill ran through the air. He watched her pull her shawl tightly about her middle and sighed. With her gaze downcast, she must not see him…

“Arabel!” he called and the girl drew back, startled.

She wrapped her arms around herself and squinted down the street, trying to peer through the shadows to discern who had spoken. Instinctively, he knew he should run. She had been there, Lanyon told him; she cried over his corpse, grew utterly incapable of speech, and had to lie down during the funeral because it all became too much; and yet, there she was. His body stiffened and he retreated into the shadows beyond the street lamp’s reach as she approached.

Head cocked to the side, she stared at him with mouth agape, then slowly whispered, “W-William? I-- I thought…”

“I did not mean to _frighten_ you, Arabel; I…” he could not meet her gaze and he wondered vaguely if he wanted to.

Reaching forward, she took his hand in her own and winced. “You _died._ ”

Her gaze remained steadfast while he bowed his head, ashamed for failing her and their unborn child. Were things _different,_ he could continue with his education, earn enough to establish himself and prove that he _was_ worthy of her affections, and then they would never want for _anything._

“William?” she repeated, lifting her other hand to his face.

With eyes tightly shut, he could avoid the **pain** in her eyes and he allowed his head to droop further before he spoke, “ _Forgive me, Belle…”_

She sighed and began to stroke his left cheek. “I know not what for, my love-- whatever _‘appened_ to you… it weren’t your fault.”

Slowly he opened his eyes and let out a sob. The truth, or what he could comprehend of it, was too terrible, and yet the tears forming in her eyes were not of _fear_ but of **love** and _joy_ and **_thankfulness_** , and he resolved to tell her what he could. “May I escort you home?” he asked earnestly. “I can try to explain as we walk…”

She laughed, nodded, and stretched upwards to kiss his cheek. Then, casting a quick gaze about them, she said, “I would like that very much.”

As she moved to stand beside him, he wrapped his arms round her shoulder and they walked blissfully uninterrupted through the darkened streets. William bid her goodnight with a promise to return and she lay in bed as the clock struck four, having stripped off her mourning attire and knowing, vaguely, that she would have to explain her sudden change of heart and apparent lack of respect at breakfast the next morning. But none of it _mattered._ William had not changed _so_ drastically; they could still marry, buy a house, raise their child and perhaps have another… She smiled softly and drifted off into a contented sleep.

Around nine o’clock that morning, a visitor called upon Jekyll. Dutifully cried Poole, “Sir?” His master was _again_ locked in the laboratory. “ _Mr. Utterson_ to see you!”

Jekyll’s breath caught in his throat. They had not spoken in nearly _three_ weeks-- surely, the matter with Harrison was a _safe_ topic, but his servants **_mustn’t_ ** discover the _awful_ truth. Swallowing back a wave of fear, he affected a smile, walked coolly from the laboratory, and extended a hand towards Utterson. After a rather awkward moment in which neither shook the other’s hand they pulled apart, hands dropping to their sides, before Utterson stated, “There are certain _matters_ we need to discuss, Henry. I trust you know what they are.”

The chemist nodded. “I do, Gabriel.” Without turning his head, he shouted, _“Poole!”_

From his place near the door responded the Butler, “Sir?”

He stared at Utterson a moment before stating, “On the table beside my bed is a list of errands that I wish _all_ of you to carry out. You may use any spare time as you deem fit.”

The Butler’s brows rose. _“All_ of us, Sir?”

 _“Yes,_ Poole; return no earlier than five of the clock.”

Though thoroughly puzzled, the butler acquiesced, retrieved the described list, and escorted the others out.

Jekyll’s heart raced as he and Utterson took their respective places by the unlit fire. Neither wanted to speak first: they stared at the walls or the floor of their own feet in a desperate attempt to ignore the issue at hand. Suddenly spoke Utterson, “I merely wish to _understand,_ Henry… Hyde--”

Jekyll swallowed. “...he _is_ me, Gabe-- I _cannot_ quite explain it, but--”

 **_“Try._ ** For _my_ sake, Henry-- **_try.”_ **

The chemist sighed, met his friend’s gaze, and began.  


	5. An Academic Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Utterson and Jekyll discuss Hyde's existence and make great strides towards reconciling, while Lanyon receives four visitors, one of whom is Harrison's very Jewish aunt.

“They healed… of course they healed…” Utterson muttered to himself, staring at Jekyll’s hand, the palm of which was just visible as the chemist rubbed the left side of his neck.

“What?” Torn from his thoughts by the sudden utterance, Jekyll removed his hand from the side of his neck and dropped it onto the chair beside him.

“Your-- your _hand_ …” cautiously, Utterson reached forward as if to take Jekyll’s hand in his own, but stopped suddenly short. “I noticed how both _you_ and **_he_** had injuries on your left hand, Henry. At first I, like Lanyon, thought that you were **both** _careless_ with an experiment--”

Jekyll leant backwards, crossed one leg over his knee, and wrapping his right arm around himself, questioned, “What convinced you otherwise?”

“I noticed a sudden change in his expression… Despite how terribly _rude_ he was,” he paused and directed a pointed look at Jekyll, “something in his manner, particularly his **_eyes_** , struck me as familiar.”

“I see,” Jekyll responded after a moment. “And **because** of this, you sought out _Lanyon’s_ help?”

With a sigh replied Utterson, “It seemed too much of a _coincidence,_ Henry! And when _you_ were hungover, with Hyde _absent…_ ”

“If I had not lived it,” stated Jekyll, “ _I_ would not have believed it, either.”

In Cavendish Square, Lanyon had just finished breakfast when his butler cried from the front of the house, “Dr. Lanyon, Sir! People ‘ere to see you!” Standing before the doorway, he blocked three men with grave expressions and coarse leather briefcases from entering the house until his master appeared and granted approval. The shouting disturbed Lanyon; what if Harrison awoke? He cast a quick glance towards the stairs behind him before effecting a smile and inquiring as to the men’s identities.

“We have come to deliver a notice to appear before the medical association's ethics board. Failure to do so will result in _more_ than just a repeal of your medical license. Is that understood?”

The man thrust an envelope towards Lanyon which the doctor accepted gravely. “I will be there at the appointed time.” Lanyon shut the door after they took their leave and muttered worriedly something that his Butler couldn’t quite catch before walking upstairs to the guest room.

Amazing was it how solidly the lad could sleep, no matter how much noise arose from below since Lanyon had started admitting patients into his home again. Cries and screams from women and children, agonized groans from infections and wounds, shouts from husbands and fathers as they begged for aid… an assortment of any of those sounds could permeate the house, and yet Harrison would seldom rise while the sun remained overhead.

Lanyon slowly opened the door and stared, with breath hitched, at the young couple before him. Harrison lay curled up beside Arabel, which the doctor found though rather _foolish_ in her present state, when she was supposedly deep in the midst of mourning; yet could not help but smile as Harrison buried his face in the girl’s hair. Young and hopeful were they, even in spite of recent occurrences. Were things different, perhaps, could the couple live together as a family, sustained by their love and faith, for they were the sort who, having found each other, would never dream of parting, not even when the hands of Death tainted their relationship.

“Dr. Lanyon, Sir!” cried his Butler, hastening up the stairs to appear at his Master’s side. _“Ms. Harrison_ here to see you!”

Lanyon’s eyes widened as he turned towards his servant. “The lad’s aunt?”

The Butler nodded. “Yes, Sir; she says she is worried about--” he paused and nodded towards the room, “well, about the girl… says her behaviour has been “erratic” and “inappropriate” as of late…”

“Her mourning attire?” suggested Lanyon.

“Yes, Sir; she has utterly discarded it…”

Stunned, the man stopped as Harrison’s aunt appeared, panting slightly, with rage flushing her wrinkled face, and seized Lanyon’s lapels. _“Where is she?”_

“Daviana--”

Silently did the Butler draw shut the door, though not before Ms. Harrison caught a glimpse inside. “Why do you hide her from me, Hastie? She is my family-- and still in bed at such an hour?” She released her hold on Lanyon and rushed to the door.

“Sorry, ma’am; you mustn't disturb them--” started the Butler, who quelled at a severe stare from his Master. “Th-the girl and her child, that is-- s-sleep is _very_ important for her…”

No one spoke for a moment. As Ms. Harrison paced the corridor, the rage melted from her countenance and in its stead appeared a confused anguish. Turning suddenly towards the Butler, she asked, “ _‘Them’_?”

The man stiffened against the door and startled at a rustling from within. “Sorry, ma’am, but you cannot go in--”

“You _distinctly_ said **them,** and if you _insist_ on ly-”

Lanyoned stepped forward and placed a placating hand on her shoulder. “Daviana, do you remember the papers? How… your nephew, William… how he _rose_ from his grave?”

She laughed despite the tears forming in her eyes and responded, “Utter **nonsense.** _I_ said Kaddish for him myself, and _you_ declared him dead, and I’m supposed to believe that he-- he--”

They all turned as someone knocked from within the room. “Who _is_ that?” she exclaimed. “If-- if someone has _taken her in_ , and **you** are--” she shuddered at some sudden thought as the door swung open and the Butler dutifully moved aside.

“...Aunt Davi.”

The elder Harrison’s eyes grew wide at the sight of her nephew. “I-- _you--_ oh!” She lifted a black-clad arm to her forehead, inhaled shallowly, and fell backwards. William rushed forward and caught her before lowering her her gently and shaking his head at Arabel, who had risen shortly after he knocked and now stood in the doorway with both hands over her mouth.

“I’ll fetch the salts,” stated the Butler. He left after a nod from Lanyon.

“I never meant to _frighten_ her, Hastie--”

“She will be _fine_ \-- and I think, Arabel, it is well past time for breakfast.”

The girl offered a sheepish smile. “Of course, Sir; I’ll dress.” She smiled at William before turning back into the room and shutting the door behind her.

 _“You should have told me, Henry.”_ Utterson’s words echoed in Jekyll’s mind. But such a thing could _not_ have happened, given how Jekyll hardly understood it himself-- and the wicked, wicked truth it revealed about his own nature was something he did not wish to share with _anyone,_ Utterson included. “I--”

There hesitated Utterson. _Desperately_ did he desire understanding, and yet he feared the truth as much as his companion.

“You could _not_ have understood!” snapped Jekyll, glaring as he shifted in his chair. “And I-- I wanted to _protect_ you, Gabriel. Hyde’s behaviours are not in the _least_ respectable, and were his misdeeds discovered--”

“Such as what happened with that young girl?” Utterson retorted. “My cousin told me of it, and when he indicated the door to _your_ laboratory--”

“--wretched, I know, but I was in a hurry--” he fell silent at a glare from Utterson and directed his gaze towards the empty fireplace.

Jekyll’s servants bustled about the square as one unit, clinging to each other as people milled about them with baskets or prams, with Poole leading them through the throng. The knife-boy stated suddenly, “Has anyone ‘eard from Hyde since Jekyll’s party?”

“He ‘asn’t come round, _that’s_ for sure!” exclaimed Cook.

“Do you think…?” began the maid, who fell silent as Poole disappeared within the tailor’s. She moved aside of the entrance, motioning her fellows to do the same, and whispered: “Do y’ think he’s _dead_?”

“What makes you think--” began Bradshaw.

“I--” the maid shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know. I just thought, bein’ as ‘e drank so much, and Poole said ‘e got sick, and then ‘e ‘asn’t been seen in weeks--”

“ _‘ow much_ did he drink?” asked Bradshaw.

Poole emerged from the tailor’s with one of his Master’s suits. Having overheard Bradshaw’s inquiry, he stated, “if you were discussing Master _Hyde_ , then the answer is ‘six glasses,’ which seems to me **far** too much for a person of his stature.”

The maid gasped and exclaimed, “That’s why I think ‘im _dead_ , Poole!  Surely he couldn’t ‘ave lived--”

“But he got _sick,_ remember? Flushed the poison right out!” countered Cook.

Poole noted how a few curious passerby appeared to listen in on their conversation, and even the tailor’s shop boy, a scrappy young lad standing near the open door and making a show of sweeping, seemed curious, and so he led his staff to their Master’s carriage. “Although,” he whispered once they reached the carriage and their Master’s suit was safely inside, “it would not surprise me if ‘e sought out _more_ drink once he left, as it is only fitting of his nature.”

“Quite so, Poole! Now, where next?” asked Bradshaw, assuming the driver’s seat.

“The grocer’s, Bradshaw,” returned Poole. He held open the door, allowing Cook, the maid, and the knife-boy to go inside before slamming the door and climbing up next to the footman.

Cook gasped and clapped excitedly as the carriage lurched to a start.

Rousing Daviana took longer than expected due to the difficulty which Lanyon’s butler encountered in locating the doctor’s smelling salts (he had moved them from his medical kit to his coat pocket). As she came to, she gave a scream and jumped backwards, nearly hitting her head on the wall in her efforts to move away from William. Her labored breathing filled the hall as four pairs of eyes watched her.

“Aunt Davi--” William began, but shrank back from the look of mistrust in his aunt’s eyes.

The old woman shook as she placed a hand on the floor and lifted herself up. She felt for her mourning hat and found it missing, instead running a hand over the back of her grey, curly-haired head. “Gottenyu!” ("Dear G-d!") she exclaimed, panicked. “My hat!”

Arabel approached from behind William, dressed in a pale lilac dress and biting her lip, and proffered the object in question. “Here it is, Daviana. It-- _fell_ off, when… when you _fainted…_ ”

The elder woman snatched it eagerly and returned it to her head. “Now,” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing, “I _demand_ an explanation! You--” she turned towards her nephew and sorrow overcame her mien. “How…?”

Lanyon stepped forward, extended a hand towards Ms. Harrison, and with the other arm indicated downstairs. “I believe it would be best if we discussed this over a _drink_ , Daviana.” He ordered his butler to fetch the brandy and some glasses before escorting the lady to his sitting room. Together with William, Lanyon explained the situation as best he could-- that William _had_ died, and the cause was apparent anemia, but in actuality it was infection from a vampire bite and her nephew’s attacker remained at large.

Ms. Harrison listened to this with an air of disbelief. Such a thing could _not_ have happened, she thought, and in the next moment she exclaimed,  " _Oyb du zogst lign zoltstu krenk lign!” ("If you insist on lying, you should lie ill!")_ This she directed mostly towards the doctor, given her nephew’s present state of living, and the man shrunk back at the vehement nature of her voice, though he understood not the words which she spoke.

Her nephew and Arabel, however, understood perfectly and William responded, “We’re _not_ lying, Auntie! ‘ _Vlad Dracul,_ ’ as he called himself, is a **_monster_** , and I--”

“This is _mishegass_!” exclaimed the elder Harrison. _“Vampires_ **don’t** exist! You were probably in a _coma_ ; yes, _that’s_ it! A week-long coma!”

Lanyon sighed, shook his head, and stood before setting down his glass and pacing the room. “Your nephew _definitely_ **died** , Ms. Harrison; I declared so myself. And he rose from his grave a week later, transformed into his present state-- which, might I add, I can _not_ discuss at my hearing…”

The old woman gaped. “A _hearing_ , Hastie? Oy! You should have mentioned--”

Lanyon shook his head vehemently at the suggestion and stated, “No, I should _not_ have! I have been accused of **_incompetence_**!”

“Meaning?” she interjected timidly.

“Meaning they believe I wrought _intentional harm_ upon your nephew and am thus _unfit_ to practice medicine!”

Daviana took a shaky sip from her glass before setting it down and folding her hands in her lap. “Perhaps, if they _knew_ …”

Lanyon again shook his head. “They would revoke my license and throw me in an _institution!_ ”

Defeated, the old woman sighed and accepted a refill from Lanyon’s butler.

“Maybe Jekyll would know ‘ow to help?” suggested Arabel. “A _cure_ or _explanation_ of some sort…”

Lanyon scoffed at the notion and resumed his seat. “That would only add more fuel to the fire,” he explained further, “Jekyll and I are _not_ on civil terms.”

“But, sir, does ‘e not know about vampires?” asked Arabel.

Lanyon grinned, leant back in his chair, and replied, “No, I believe he does not.”

It was nearly five o’clock and Jekyll’s servants were not yet returned.

“Do _you_ believe him, Gabriel? _Vampires_?”

“I--” Utterson paused. “I know not, Henry; but what I _do_ know is that Hastie is one _indisposed_ to lie. And it would explain Harrison’s ailment, you cannot deny that.” He stared at Jekyll, who sat eerily still, for a moment before asking, “How did you _meet_ Dracul, Henry?”

The chemist shook his head and replied abstractedly, “ _I_ did not-- it was _Hyde_ …”

A wave of disgust forced Utterson to close his eyes, but what occurred to him was a necessary evil if he wanted to help his friend. “We _need_ Hyde to locate him-- I’ve heard that Hastie will come under investigation, and if we discover _proof_ \--”

“I **_loathe_ ** to do anything which may **help** Lanyon, Gabriel…”

“For the sake of _William_ and his _family,_ Henry! They have suffered immensely in the past month, and it is _your_ responsibility as his teacher to **_help!_** ”

Jekyll sighed. “You are _right_ , Gabe-- follow me,” _before I lose my resolve,_ he thought bitterly. _At least he can bear to look at_ **_me_** _…_

He led Utterson to the laboratory and set about preparing the potion. Other than his tailor, only Utterson knew the truth of Hyde and while the tailor suppressed his disgust out of necessity, he wondered if Utterson could ever **_truly_** recover from the shock of that night. _He_ certainly hadn’t. For that matter, he had avoided the laboratory for _weeks_ and maintained the visage of Jekyll by **sheer force of will**.

He observed the solution as it bubbled and frothed, poured some into a glass, and made to drink it when Utterson gasped suddenly. “What is the matter, Gabriel?”

Caught off guard, Utterson blurted, “Hyde requires smaller clothes, does he not?”

“Yes.... I have a suit upstairs. Perhaps you would bring it down here?”

Utterson gave a sigh of relief and left the room while Jekyll downed the solution and fell violently to his knees. His clothes shrunk around them until he felt the weight unbearable, shook off his coat, and stood to lose his trousers. When he returned, Utterson stared a moment. Hyde’s eyes were of the same color as Jekyll’s, and his hair the same vibrant shade as once was Jekyll’s (the fire of a sunset), and yet he regarded the world with contempt and acted wickedly with only _his_ desires in mind. He wondered if such an existence was _so_ bad as he handed over the suit and turned to grant Hyde some privacy.

“You can turn round now, Gabe,” Hyde finally said and the lawyer obeyed.

“Very well,” began Utterson, noting how Hyde’s suit was that same as that he’d worn at Jekyll’s dinner, “we should depart before your servants return, Hen- Edward.”

Hyde laughed and led Utterson from the house, pausing once they reached the street to ask, “Are you _certain_ , Gabe? Perhaps _you_ require a **disguise** …”

Utterson smiled. “No. What _I_ require is **_protection_** , and we must stop by the grocer’s on the way.”

Hyde glared as Utterson walked. After a moment, he followed the lawyer, muttering bitterly about having to help _Lanyon_ , of all people, and reassured himself that _Harrison_ was the _true_ recipient of his aid, _not_ Lanyon.

 **Lanyon** would suffer, he’d decided.

 **Lanyon** would lose his degree.


	6. Attacked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Utterson and Hyde head out in search of Dracula, hoping to find some means by which to assist Lanyon and Harrison.

Utterson followed Hyde through the London streets, aware of how bizarre such a pairing must appear-- more so than Utterson and his cousin. The most notable difference between himself and Hyde was their height, for while Jekyll possessed a few inches over the lawyer, in his dwarfish state he reached not half as tall as Utterson. Doubtlessly, Hyde held himself in such a manner (with head high, chin stuck out defiantly, a constant scowl about his lips, and one fist clenched constantly against his side) to combat some sense of _inadequacy_ and loss. Utterson believed Jekyll’s reasoning _true_ \-- that he **tried** to be a good person, and as Hyde was the manifestation of his wickedness… the lawyer jolted from his thoughts as Hyde disappeared from sight.  

 _“Over here!”_ snapped a rough voice. The lawyer turned. _I hope he knows what he is doing,_ he thought. With one hand wrapped firmly around the clove of garlic in his pocket, he slowly approached the alley and stopped before the indicated door, which bragged of cracks and stains, and which was set into the wall, protected from the wandering eyes of passerby.

He cast a puzzled glance at Hyde. “ _This_ door?”

Without answering, Hyde rapped upon the door with his cane, a snarl forming upon his lips as he tapped his foot. Utterson stared at him, amazed again at the marked difference between the man before him and his dearest friend; and yet, he noted, Hyde made an effort to _tone down_ his usual wickedness. The lawyer flattered himself in thinking it for his own sake that Hyde behaved thus.

The door opened to reveal a wizened countenance and eyes which trusted no one. Though confused by Utterson’s presence (with his back erect, expression grim, and one hand clenched in his pocket), he recognized Hyde and admitted the couple with a slow nod. Smoked slammed into their faces as they walked inside. Utterson cast a puzzled glance at Hyde as the dwarf moved through the smoke with ease, down a flight of stairs, and into a little room where the air hung like a thick cloak over them. The lawyer stooped all the while, covering his mouth using a handkerchief embroidered with Jekyll’s initials and looking as though he regretted his decision to implore Hyde’s help.

 _“Lighten up,_  won’t you?” Hyde snapped. He lounged on a sofa, closed his eyes, and waited for someone to arrive with the pipe.

Casting him a sidelong glance, Utterson kept the handkerchief pressed firmly against his face as he spoke, “There is **no reason** for our _being_ here, Edward! If my _clients_ saw me in this part of town…”

“--You would be instantly _more agreeable_ to them, **Gabriel**. _You_ wanted Hyde’s help…”

Both men fell silent as a long-haired gentleman walked in with a long, thin pipe and held it out expectantly. Defiantly did Hyde stretch out a hand, but Utterson stared at him with such an expression of disappointment and annoyance that Hyde halted, muttered an excuse, and swiftly fled the room. The man offered Utterson the pipe but the lawyer politely declined and followed Hyde out.

The mere _thought_ of fish, **any** sort of fish, sufficed to make Arabel gag; and yet she had eaten that which Lanyon’s cook placed before her. William now crouched beside her as she leaned over a bucket, one hand running soothingly over her back.

“Do you require anythin’, Mr. Harrison?” inquired Lanyon’s cook. “Water for the lady, perhaps?”

William nodded. “Yes, thank-you… Arabel, you should go to bed.”

Weakly, she turned towards him, her face pale, tears in her eyes, and underwent great efforts to nod her agreement. He helped her stand and led her to the bed. “Please stay,” she whispered. “I don’ wan’ t’ be alone.”

“Of course, Belle; I’m right here,” he said, smiling softly as settled on the bed beside her. “Five more months and we will have our baby…”

With her eyes firmly closed, she sighed around a smile. “Yes…”

He lay beside her until she fell into a calm, peaceful sleep, then pressed a kiss upon her forehead and went silently from the room, downstairs, where his aunt sat opposite Lanyon at the dinner table. “Arabel is asleep now; she will need to eat once she’s awoken,” he stated.

“That can be easily arranged, William,” returned Lanyon in a whisper as he stood to greet him. Placing one hand on the lad’s shoulder, he asked, “Why don’t you sit with us? Have a drink? Perhaps,” he added, casting a glance towards the elder Harrison, “convince your aunt that **four glasses** of wine are _enough_ for one night.”

Ms. Harrison smiled sheepishly. “Hastie speaks not what ‘e knows; _I_ am **perfectly** fine, only now I think you’ve gone and _multiplied!_ ” she exclaimed and burst into a fit of giggles as her nephew swam before her, multiplied twice over. She blinked. _Now_ he appeared as one, though nonetheless blurred. “Come! Sit and we can drink-- to the baby!”

William sat beside his aunt and gratefully accepted a glass from Lanyon’s butler. “I will _readily_ drink to that, Aunt Davi!”

Following her example, both William and Lanyon raised their glasses, cheered ‘L’chaim!’, and swiftly downed the wine. Giggling, Daviana attempted to stand but found it rather difficult to see where she was going, hit her knee on the table, swore loudly, then sat back down and insisted they not worry about her. “It was just a _little_ bump, after all. Just a little! And yet, how you both started!”

William gave Lanyon an embarrassed smile before helping his aunt stand and escorting her to a sofa (so she could rest, and not embarrass either of them further).

Hyde and Utterson spoke not as they moved through the darkened streets. Without opium’s wondrous influence, Hyde grew keenly aware of his surroundings, particularly the height of each building and the way eyes seemed to follow him-- and he _loathed_ it. **_Utterson_ ** towered over him and he _loathed_ the sensation (but he _had_ forfeited that advantage when he shed Jekyll’s form).

When he stopped just beyond the imposing iron gates of a graveyard, Utterson stared puzzedly at him a moment.

“You are _sure_ he’s **here**?”

Hyde nodded. “Yes, Gabe; he told me, once, that it is where he feels most at home-- among the _quiet_ , and the _dark_ , and the _indisposed_. If we want to _find_ him…”

“...we search the graveyards,” finished Utterson.

Stars filled the sky and a crisp breeze broke through the warmth of their coats as they peered into the eerie stillness before them. Somewhere in there walked a living corpse, one that, to their knowledge, had ruined the lives of four innocent people, and what would happen once they found Dracul? Amongst the dead, in the dark, he doubtlessly held myriad advantages over them. Utterson doubted that Hyde was strong enough to fend off a physical attack, and furthermore did not want to place his own hands on that vile _creature_.

 _“Wait here,”_ instructed Hyde, placing a firm hand on Utterson’s chest. “I don’t want _you_ to get hurt.”

Utterson blinked, then stared at Hyde for a long moment. “You intend on going without any means by which to _defend_ yourself?! No **protection** of any sort?”

The night stirred around them. Leaves rustled and spiders crawled over the uneven earth and a light flared in the distant sky, causing Hyde to gasp. Clearly could they see the target of their search outlined against the darkness: a tall, lean figure, dressed in a suit and cloak, the latter of which trailed through the dirt behind him. Unconsciously, Utterson reached into his pocket, pulling out the white, flowery plant he’d bought.

 _“Come here,_ Edward,” he whispered urgently.

Hyde turned and laughed. “That is _unnecessary,_ Gabe; he **knows** me and would **_not_ ** hurt me!”

“ **Edward.** ” Utterson snapped. “Please. For-- for _my_ sake, as well as your own.”

The lawyer squinted through the dark as Hyde thought. Contemplative, then shocked, then having reached some inner resolve, Hyde sighed and thrust out a hand for the clove.

“According to Lanyon, about your pulse points should suffice-- might I help?” Utterson reached forward but quickly withdrew at a glare from Hyde and cast a nervous glance about them.

“Here,” announced Hyde. He returned the garlic to Utterson’s pocket and made for the gates. “It won’t take long.”

Utterson stared after him for a moment. “Wait!” he shouted suddenly, surging forward and placing one hand on his shoulder. “I _insist_ you take this,” he explained, removing his scarf once Hyde had turned round and wrapping it tightly around the dwarf’s neck. Standing aside the entrance, he added, “I will wait here for you. Stay _safe_ , Henry.”

A smile slipped through Hyde’s steely resolve. Reaching forward, he grabbed hold of Utterson’s collar (the middle of it, where a button kept out the cold) and pulled him down until only a few centimetres remained between them. “You’re sounding rather _sentimental_ , Gabriel. While _I_ am **certain** Dracul will not harm me, and since _you_ are so worried…”

Any alarm raised by such close proximity to Dracul momentarily vanished, allowing Utterson to smile and reply, “Indeed, I am…”

Hyde tilted his head to one side and snapped open the button on Utterson’s coat. “Might I ask for something?”

Lucky were they that Dracul had not yet stumbled upon them, as they were both wholly engrossed in the other and thus **easy targets** for any _starving_ vampire.

“Of course,” returned Utterson after a moment.

Grinning widely, Hyde asked, “A **kiss** for _good luck?_ ”

Utterson nodded. Leaning forward, they met in the middle, their lips interlocking for a blissful moment, the lawyer’s arm wrapping around Hyde desperately, as if to prevent him from heading straight towards danger, then it was over. Hyde turned his head, placed a kiss on Utterson’s cheek, and released his grip on the lawyer.

“I will wait here,” Utterson repeated, giving his lover’s arm a reassuring squeeze before loosening his grip. “Be _hasty._ ”

Hyde rolled his eyes, turned, and sauntered towards the gate casually, as though he were headed to a show ahead of the fray and needn’t worry about rushing. While he waited, Utterson walked away from the gate and kicked at the ground. _I wonder that he ever befriended such a creature, who can steal away the bloom of life from those who are young and innocent!_ he mused. Moments passed slowly. It felt like his heart had escaped his chest, lodged itself within his throat, and now not only hindered his breathing (for he rather felt like crying), but also prevented him from feeling any semblance of calm. _Did he apply enough?_ And what effect would _accosting_ Dracul **actually** have, when he could deprive Jekyll of his life in the same manner that he had Harrison?

Something crashed against the hard earth, sending reverberations beyond the iron gates and past Utterson’s feet. Looking up, he saw a black, winged creature flying away. Moans from within the graveyard distracted him; suddenly recollecting himself, he ran towards their source, fearful that he would find Hyde doubled over, emaciated and _violated._

Hyde _did_ lie on the ground, with his left hand wrapped firmly around his neck, hat having fallen off, and an expression of horror-- his mouth agape, eyes wide, cheeks ashen, forehead pale and dripping sweat-- plastered on his countenance. Utterson stumbled in his efforts to kneel beside Hyde. _Why does he clutch his neck?_ he screamed internally. “Edward,” he breathed, frantically grabbing his hand and checking for blood. “Are you alright? Has he _hurt_ you? Are-- are you--” he shuddered at the thought. “Ed--”

“Y-y-y-” Hyde forced himself to swallow. Drawing himself up, he leant against Utterson and buried his face in the man’s shoulder. “Your-- your _scarf_ …”

Utterson could have laughed at that, but rather than frighten Hyde further, however, he wrapped his arms fully around him, rocking slightly on his knees which bore into the ground and rather caused him pain, for his old legs were entirely unused to such a position. Once several moments has passed and their hearts beat in unison, he placed a kiss on top of Hyde’s curly-haired head.

Stopping his movements, Utterson pulled back slightly and lifted Hyde’s chin, saddened by the tears which stained his cheeks. “At least you are _safe,_ Ed-”

“I mind ‘Henry’ not, when it comes from  ** _you_** **…** ”

“Then, _Henry,_ what matters is that you are **safe**.” Hyde had stopped clutching his throat in favor of Utterson's sleeve and the lawyer, seizing upon his opportunity, again squinted through the darkness, this time in search of what Lanyon had described as “two small punctures, each no larger than the size of a pin,” on his neck.

“You are **_safe,_** ” Utterson repeated with less certainty. He pulled Hyde close again and they sat there well into the night, drifting off in each other’s arms until a twig broke nearby and they startled awake. Hyde grabbed his hat and they hastened through the darkened streets to the laboratory door. Slipping inside, Utterson waited while Hyde mixed the potion, drank it off, stripped his outfit for one of Jekyll’s bigness, then hid the child-sized suit in a cupboard.

“It is nearly 3 o’clock, Henry; doubtlessly, your servants waited up…”

“I left them a _note,_ did I not?” returned Jekyll as he held the door open. “Come; we must to bed.”

Casting a lingering glance at Jekyll’s neck while noting how pale he still appeared, Utterson nodded and followed the chemist upstairs where they lay down in bed and clung to each other in their sleep.

At least they were _safe._


	7. White Shirts stained Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals primarily with the fallout of J&U's encounter with Dracula, while also hinting at some of Will and Arabel's pasts! I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> tw: there is a lot of blood in this chapter as Jekyll is very sick.

Unfortunately, when Utterson awoke, he observed a dark stain on Jekyll’s pillow. His throat tightened. Jekyll was yet so pale, and though he heard it possible to die of fright, the manner in which Hyde had clutched his throat, and the stains which now marred his pillow, arose within the lawyer an immense wave of dread.

He slipped from the room, down the stairs, and encountered Cook, who greeted him with a broad smile as he sat for breakfast. “Did you sleep well, Sir?”

Avoiding her gaze, he gave a slight nod despite having stayed up half the night to watch Jekyll for any signs of his condition worsening.

_He would have told me…_

Jekyll walked in then, pale and shaking, supported by Poole’s sturdy grip. Weak though he was, the chemist smiled at Utterson while Poole drew back his chair and helped him sit. The butler stared warily at his master and his gaze lingered on the black scarf pulled taut round his neck, yet he attempted a consoling smile and asked if Jekyll required anything.

Both servants exchanged a glance; their master seemed to fall ill too easily in recent days, and they feared some rotten business with Hyde-- that he had invited Jekyll for drinks, only to slip him poison, or that he was actively blackmailing him, or otherwise acting to cause him distress-- but they were _loath_ to voice their fears and rather kept watchful eyes on him while heat he ate.

The food offended him. He took a small bite of his eggs, replaced the fork, then stared blankly at his plate for a long moment.

“Are you _ill_ , Sir?” Cook asked, moving forward to place a hand on her master’s shoulder. “It would do you well to eat.”

Jekyll lifted his gaze to Utterson. “Quite well, quite well… only, I dreamt I was Hyde last night!”

“Beg Pardon?” snapped Cook. She glanced at Poole, searching his face for an explanation, yet found him just as confused as herself. Turning her gaze to Utterson, she found even fewer answers; the lawyer, with teeth gritted, avoided eye contact by glaring down at his largely untouched breakfast.

Sensing the two men were hiding something, she made a surreptitious motion, indicating that Poole should follow her into the kitchen where they might be able to discuss the matter in private.

He obeyed, closing the door behind himself while she wrung her hands and began to pace. Neither Utterson nor their master seemed willing to eat, nor did it appear that either man had slept well-- and what of the cause? Had Jekyll, perhaps, contracted a cold or similar ailment? It seemed doubtful that he had drunk himself to excess, his character being one of immense restraint and propriety, but what of his sudden, dazed comment?

“He ain’t in his right mind!” Cook blurted, stopping suddenly. “‘e... ‘e…”

“You musn’t react so!” scolded Poole. “But I suggest you escort the good doctor back upstairs, and I shall attempt to ask Mr. Utterson about the matter.”

Quietly, Cook replied, “Of course, Poole; I’m just _worried_ , is all. With Master ‘ _yde_ missin’ for so long, and Master’s dream, and-- and--”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “He merely needs rest, as I believe _you_ do, as well. We _all_ do,” the last portion, murmured faintly, brought a smile to Cook’s lips. “It will be all be _alright,_ ” he assured her.  

She nodded. “Of course, Poole; after all, Master has survived _far worse_ ‘asn’t he?”

They both smiled a moment before leaving the kitchen on their appointed tasks.

_“I know not what you mean, Poole.”_

It was not his place to outwardly question Jekyll’s behaviour, but at the present moment he felt it his duty to inquire after his master’s condition. “Did the two of you encounter Mr. Hyde last night?”

Taken aback, Utterson struggled a moment to respond. “I… no, we did not… we went for a walk, where it rather seems as though your Master has caught a chill.”

Poole stared a moment, knowing the situation to be rather delicate, but a terrible scream rang through the house before he could gather his thoughts; then the sounds of frantic feet on the stairs, and Bradshaw’s voice, shouting out for Poole, who ran towards the source immediately. With great anxiety did Utterson follow and they moved upstairs without a word. As they rounded the corner into Jekyll’s room, the source of consternation did not obviously appear. Peculiar was it, however, that Jekyll’s servants crowded together near the window, backs towards the door, gazes transfixed upon the floor before them.

“What is the matter?” asked Utterson as he walked forward and looked over the maid’s shoulder, but the sight being too terrible, he turned his head and squeezed shut his eyes.

 _Jekyll…_ Utterson breathed a ragged sigh. _They will summon Lanyon, and the debacle with Harrison will repeat itself…_

While Utterson became absorbed in his thoughts, Poole crouched down to examine his master. Jekyll lay with his head thrust back at an awkward angle, lips slightly parted, and neck turned outwards, blood rolling down onto the carpet and contrasting sharply with his pale countenance. His servants attempted to rouse him. Perhaps, they worried, he had cut himself in an attempt to shave, and in his weakness nicked himself with the razor-- no other possibilities could they conceive of, for Cook had left him alone but a _moment_ before he cried out…

“Alone?” Utterson interjected, opening his eyes and staring at Cook in bewilderment. “You left him **_alone_** , when he is _unfit_ to be so?”

Cook paled. “Well, Mr. Utterson, sir…” she stepped aside as Bradshaw and Poole lifted Jekyll into his bed. “Well, you see…”

Jekyll gasped suddenly, and lifting a trembling hand, dragged his nails across his bloody throat, but only when he cast Utterson an anguished glance did his servants realize this was no _ordinary_ ailment. “Send for Lanyon!” ordered Poole. “Tell ‘im is is an _emergency_ and make **no** haste in getting there!”

Bradshaw and the knifeboy nodded and cast a quick glance towards their master before turning to leave. Utterson, however, interjected, “Perhaps _I_ might go, Poole?”

Wearily replied the butler, “I see no harm in that, Sir; but, please be quick about it.”

The lawyer nodded gravely. _Before he dies,_ he thought, shivering at the thought of Jekyll bleeding out.

Daviana’s nephew had died yet returned for the sake of his family. It all seemed a bit _mishegas_ to her. Yet her nephew was an expectant father and future husband who smiled whenever he saw his fiancee, and soothed her when she was too ill to stand; and in his kind, compassionate eyes and soft smiles she saw her younger brother, who had cared deeply and genuinely for his family. He almost cared _too_ much, she dare say-- if not for the loss of his darling wife, Raeni, he might yet live to see his grandchild.

William _knew_ if **far** from traditional to name a child after oneself, but his fondness for the past brought his son’s name-- a president of the United States who died before accomplishing much of anything; he had explained it as wanting to _educate_ his son about the concepts of humility and hubris. Having watched one of their brothers fail as a lawyer, she could understand the sentiment.

As Utterson walked to summon Lanyon, he worried that Jekyll was _dying_ and nothing could be done-- he would wither and decay in the same manner as his pupil, and Lanyon would most _definitely_ face repercussions, and what **_then_**?

Headlines flashed before his eyes in quick succession: ‘LOCAL CHEMIST ATTACKED; DOCTOR FAILS TO SAVE HIM;’ ‘DR. LANYON FOUND GUILTY -- LICENSE REVOKED;’ ‘VAMPIRE CRISIS IN LONDON!’ The reporters would investigate _both_ Lanyon and Jekyll thoroughly, eager to discern the source of their rivalry and whether that played a role in Harrison’s death and now Jekyll’s ailment; and they would interrogate Jekyll’s servants, perhaps forcing them to reveal certain _private_ details of his life which would then incriminate the lawyer…

He knocked on the door. Waited. _Lanyon_ **_must_ ** _be home, he thought,_ hands shaking at his sides. Lanyon was one of his oldest friends, and though Jekyll thrived off the rift between them, he doubted Lanyon felt the same.

Lanyons butler admitted him solemnly, explaining that his master was far too stressed to admit company, but that the young Harrison and his fiancee would eagerly wait upon the lawyer. He led Utterson into the darkened sitting room. “They do not like the light, Sir; it ‘urts them. I’ll fetch a candle for you.”

Through the darkness could Utterson discern the couple’s young forms: William, seated in an armchair, his back to the window; and Arabel, her head pressed upon his shoulder, face flush with his suit. He ran a hand through her hair while she dozed. “You are a friend of Lanyon’s, are you not? My mentor, as well?” Harrison spoke through the silence. “We have not yet formally met.”

Such a voice, thin and raspy, appeared to come from a man far older than Utterson himself, yet the production of a candle by Lanyon’s butler confirmed Harrison as the speaker.

Utterson nodded earnestly. “I am rather afraid Henry failed to introduce us _properly_ at his dinner-- such things have a habit of slipping his mind.”

Harrison nodded grimly. “I have found his manners _often_ lacking. When first we met-- Lanyon, Jekyll, and I, we--” he stopped as Arabel murmured something into his shoulder. “What was that?”

She turned her head, green eyes crinkling as she stared into his brown ones, and she repeated herself, “You wrote me _all_ about it!” Then, turning towards Utterson, she continued, “Your friends argued like _school children_ who’d had some spat, only it felt to them as though the world were ending. Children can be _very_ dramatic at times.”

“Like your _sister?_ ” Harrison queried good-naturedly.

 _Incredible,_ thought Utterson; _so youthful, so_ **_hopeful_ ** _despite everything._ Jekyll, meanwhile, was likely bleeding out in his bed…

She laughed. “Gwynne is _different_ ; she’s only _somewhat_ dramatic at times. But, you must admit, she’s better than _your_ cousin, Eli…”

 _Hope_ \-- watching the young couple filled Utterson with an immense sense of hope, for if _they_ could thrive in their altered states, then he and Jekyll might, as well.

“Well, Belle…” he trailed off as Lanyon entered the room.

Utterson rose to greet the doctor, whose countenance screamed of exhaustion. “Hastie…”

“What is it?” snapped Lanyon.

“Jekyll, he… he was _attacked,_ in the same manner as the young Mr. Harrison.”

The couple exchanged glances before Harrison stood to address the men. “You mean to say he is _dying_?”

Utterson nodded gravely. “Indeed.”

“I am rather afraid there is nothing to be done, Gabriel; attempting to save William drained me enough.”

“Your _reputation_ is at risk here, Hastie; you and Jekyll may regard yourselves as _enemies,_ but the press will not-- nor will I-- forgive you if you do not _try_ to help him.”

Lanyon sighed. “Very well. William, Arabel, sup without me, and worry not-- they’ll soon be _another_ to keep you company.”

They left behind the young, fearful couple, grabbed Lanyon’s medical bag and sped towards Jekyll’s in Lanyon’s carriage, neither speaking. Utterson’s heart threatened to burst.

The fog, once they arrived, appeared not so thick; if they squinted, perhaps, patches of blue sky would become visible; and Utterson, with complete faith in Lanyon, believed the doctor could solve the issue at hand. They walked up to the door, found it unlocked, and let themselves in. Utterson led the way upstairs.

“How bad is it?” Lanyon asked as they rounded the corner.

“He was pale and weak when I’d left-- the wounds on his neck had been aggravated in some manner…”

“Sir!” Cook cried, throwing herself towards both men and taking a hand of each, tears staining her cheeks. “Oh, Sirs, it…” she choked on a sob, “it is _too late!_ Master, he…” her words dissolved into racking sobs and Lanyon, seeking to comfort her, placed one hand on her shoulder.

Throwing away Cook’s hand, Utterson stepped slowly backwards, even as his vision blurred, his head spun, and his stomach churned. _No,_ he thought; **_not_ ** _Jekyll…_

Lanyon and Cook watched as Utterson sank to the floor, back to the wall, and buried his head in his hands. _If Hyde had not been so_ **rash** _, or if_ **_I_ ** _had assumed responsibility, led Hyde back here and ensured he became Jekyll again…_

Poole walked out of Jekyll’s room then, his formerly crisp shirt stained a dark red from his Master’s blood. “It appears, Sir, as though we will not be needing your services.” He knelt besides Utterson, who had doubled over as sobs overcame him.

“We mustn’t tell the others,” began Cook, “it would be too _‘orrible_ for ‘em!”

An hour passed, then another, while they sat; time, it seemed, inched forward at a snail’s pace; even without a multitude of guests was the house never so quiet.

“Gabe?” spoke a voice through the silence, startling the mourning party.

With eyes wide, Utterson raised his head, stared for a moment, then spluttered, “H-He--” he fell forwards, landing in Jekyll’s expectant arms.

Although terrified as well, Poole stared respectfully at this Master. “I will have the maid change your sheets, Sir, and Dr. Lanyon and myself will help get Mr. Utterson into the guest room.”

Visibly shaking, he walked off accompanied by a silent Cook.

“I'm...  _glad_ that you are **_well_** _,_ Henry…”

Jekyll smiled, revealing elongated canines. _“As am I, Hastie…”_


	8. Chanukah Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Chanukah! In 1884, the holiday fell between December 12th and December 19th, and this chapter occurs during the seventh night (December 18th, 1884, or 30th Kislev, 5645). Chag Saemeach and have a good holiday season!

“William!” Arabel exclaimed as she rushed downstairs into the warm, currently potato-scented kitchen of the little flat Daviana had rented. “Are you nearly finished?”

He shook his head, turned to kiss her, then refocused on the stove before him. “Father’s recipe is more difficult than I remember– and the potatoes aren’t sticking together! They  _ are _ supposed to stick, are they not?” 

Glancing over his shoulder, she sighed, “They look  _ fine, _ my love; you’re simply  **_impatient_ ** .” She ran a hand through his hair– so different now, in the way it swept away from his forehead, and so,  _ so _ short, quite unlike how he had always worn it in his youth. 

Daviana walked in then, stopping before the stove and inhaling. “Oh! Delightful, delightful; just like your father used to make!” 

He sighed. “No, Aunt Davi– I have tried to follow his recipe  _ exactly _ –” 

His aunt laughed. “Oh,  _ don’t _ do that!” She turned towards a small, worn leather journal which lay nearby and taking it up, said, “I’d forgotten--”

The world began to spin.  _ No,  _ thought Arabel;  _ no-- _ she ran from the room, followed by Daviana, and collapsed over a bucket in the sitting room.  _ No food yet, and already sick… _

“Oh, dear,” Daviana muttered. She crouched down beside Arabel, wrapped an around around her, and began to whisper soothingly in Yiddish.

Her own daughter, Elsie, would have been twenty that year, and the next Yahrzeit was fast approaching. Her chest ached. Having lost both her brother and her only child in such a short span of time, providing for William had helped stave off a wave of impending darkness. William, her nephew, brought her joy; and now, with Arabel very much her surrogate daughter, she consoled the girl as best she could.

“Perhaps you would like to lay down?” Daviana suggested. “Some rest before dinner will do you much good. Come,” she ordered, taking the girl’s hands in her own. She led her to the sofa and helped her lay down. 

Jekyll, while doubtlessly starving, refused Cook’s offers to prepare his favorite meals, and even sneered slightly with every new dish she offered. “I simply am  _ not _ hungry, Cook.”

Poole and Cook exchanged nervous glances. “Very well, Sir… if I may, I would like to retire for the night.” 

Jekyll hesitated a moment with one hand on the door as if to shut it, then said, “Yes, Cook. Good night.”  
She smiled-- a wobbly, saddened smile, and bowed respectively while wiping at her eye. “Good night, Sir; and enjoy the party.”

“Thank-you,” he returned. She took her leave, muttering to herself about the wretchedness of it all and how much  _ better  _ things would be without Hyde, for surely  **_he_ ** was the one who met that Monster, that utter-- “Oh!” she cried, bracing her hands against the wall as the maid tore past with rage distorting her features and a pale-yellow, deeply stained shirt clutched in her fist. 

“I’ve  _ had _ it, Sir!” she screamed, waving Hyde’s shirt at her master. “Those-- those  **_stains_ ** …” her hands shook violently in bloody fists at her sides, nostrils flaring, eyes wide. “I  _ won’t--  _ I  **_can’t_ ** **\--** tell your  _ friend _ \--” she tossed the shirt at Jekyll storming off. Cook followed shortly after. 

Sighing, Jekyll stared after her and wondered, _what could I have done?_ A ruptured vein and blood that kept flowing, flowing, _flowing_ into his mouth, both exciting and frightening for its novelty. “It was **not** _my_ fault, Poole; Hyde is **_reckless_** and because of our relationship, with him as my _colleague,_ Dracul--”

“Let us not worry about that now, Sir; I will leave you to dress while I go talk to the others.”

“Very well, Poole. Tell them I mean them no harm.”

Poole bowed. “We are  _ aware  _ of that, Sir; only Master  _ Hyde _ makes us worry.  _ Call _ if you should need anything.” Pale and with fists clenched at his sides, Poole took his leave.

Jekyll shut the door, turned, and stared for a moment at the cloth-covered mirror.  _ An illusion, _ he thought, shaking his head;  _ a mere  _ **_illusion_ ** _ \--  _ and yet he could not remember that day, nearly a week previous now, on which he had bled out in bed. Only a blurry figure standing over him, and then… Utterson. Sobs. Shouts. Anger, frustration, denial.  _ Bargaining.  _ The voices of his servants and friends-- his  _ family _ \--  **begging** for him to come back.

He changed slowly, wondering what could be done about the shirt, and more so how to comfort and apologize to his maid. After all,  _ Hyde _ was born for destruction, chaos, and personal pleasure, and he had simply gotten  _ carried away _ in his hunger and furthermore, the man yet  _ lived _ when Hyde, bloated from his feast, had drunkenly stumbled away.

He laughed.  _ Hyde _ would be reprimanded, if not by his servants, then by the  _ ever-sensible _ Utterson, who would understand his precarious condition. 

William Samuel’s voice had filled the kitchen, commingling with the sizzling of oil and sparkling of candles and radiating vibrant joy. Raeni smiled in awe one moment, and in the next she swatted away William Henry’s hand as he tried to sneak a cookie from the smooth, bronze plate, telling him to wait outside the kitchen until she called him for dinner. It was  _ warm _ and  _ safe _ and no one knew then, when he was five-years-old, that his mother would fall ill the next and barely survive past his seventh birthday…

Arabel’s laugh burst through his thoughts as she greeted Jekyll, Utterson, and Lanyon. He finished loading the tray with latkes and set them on the table, stared a moment, then reached out and snatched one from the top of the pile.  _ One bite,  _ he thought,  _ and if it has no taste…  _ But it  **did** have a taste, one which reminded him of those warm nights in his parents’ kitchen. He removed his apron and stuffed the rest of the latke in his mouth before going to join the others. 

“William! You look well, if I might say!” Lanyon exclaimed, positively beaming. He clapped the lad’s shoulder and then he and the others followed Daviana to the closet, where they hung up their coats before rejoining their hosts. 

After swallowing the rest of the latke, William returned, “Thank-you, Hastie. I take it your hearing went well?”

“--A  _ technicality  _ led to its dismissal,” Utterson explained confidentially. “They found that Lanyon was acting in your best interest, although the matter of your apparent live-burial continues to perplex everyone…”

“Yes,” the lad stated, but a knock on the door prevented him from speaking further.

Daviana went to answer it. “Maya!” she exclaimed, beaming, and in the next moment pulled the young women close and embraced her. “It has been a  _ long _ time!” 

She smiled at her aunt, who pulled her inside and shut the door. “Oh, dear, you’re  _ shivering _ !” 

Maya’s cheeks were flushed a bright pink, her thin hands covered in warm gloves, a thick coat pulled tightly around herself, and a wool cap covering her light brown hair. She removed her hat, then her gloves, and shuffled off her coat, which she barely had time to remove before Daviana snatched them up and rushed to put them in the closet. 

“William!” the young woman exclaimed, rushing to her cousin and wrapping her arms around him. “Oh! I heard-- well, I’m not sure  _ what _ I heard, but there were a lot of different narratives floating about. First that you  _ died, _ but then that you  _ didn’t _ , and we were too far out of the city to come--” she ran a hand over his head, murmured softly about his hair, then released her grip on him and turned, holding out an expectant hand for Arabel. The girl stepped forward and took it.

“I am  _ glad _ you’re here, Maya, but  _ where _ is your husband?” William queried. 

Maya’s smile fell a moment. “Both he and our daughter are ill, but he agreed I should come here and spend time with my  _ darling  _ little cousin--” Daviana cleared her throat  “--and my _ favourite _ aunt.” 

“Might you introduce us to your cousin, William?” Jekyll inquired, brow quirked at the young lad. 

The younger Harrison smiled. “Beg Pardon, Dr. Jekyll. Maya,” he addressed her, smiling, “I would like to introduce you to Drs. Hastie Lanyon and Henry Jekyll, and Mr. Gabriel Utterson; my friends and mentors since I have arrived in London.”

She bowed to each one in turn. “A pleasure, I’m sure; now, William,” she stated, refocusing on her cousin, “I believe it is time to light the candles and absolutely  _ devour _ those latkes you prepared-- unless you feel otherwise?”

“No; I was about to propose the same.” Still smiling, he led his cousin to the windowsill, where the bronze menorah sat, its first candle waiting for the warm touch of the shamash to set it alive and illuminate the little room. After procuring a match, William lit the shamash and led his family in singing,  _ “Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tsivanu l'hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.”  _ Utterson, Jekyll, and Lanyon stood by respectively, awed by the rhythm and unity. 

“ _ Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim laavoteinu v'imoteinu bayamim hahaeim baz'man hazeh.”  _ After lighting the first candle, he offered the shamash to Arabel, who accepted it with a smile and lit the second candle before handing it off to Maya, who repeated the process and handed the candle to her aunt. They passed it around amongst themselves until seven candles beamed from the windowsill and William returned the shamash to its elevated seat. 

“...just like your father,” Daviana whispered sadly, once the shamash was set. “Such a beautiful voice you have, William. Let us hope your cooking is  _ also _ reminiscent of your father’s!”

“You need not worry, Aunt Davi; I tried one myself, and they are  **_wonderful_ ** .” 

Grinning, he ushered his family and friends into the kitchen. Utterson stayed behind a moment, casting a perplexed gaze at Jekyll, who stared straight ahead without moving. “Henry?” He reached out and squeezed his love’s hand. “Come, now; you need  _ food _ , and if you are  _ worried-- _ ” 

Jekyll smiled at Utterson. “No, Gabe; I had not realized…” 

Utterson nodded. “Of course not, Henry. Come,” he led Jekyll into the kitchen and the rest of the night dissolved into laughter and light.


	9. Red Streaks on Frosted Windows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of the year, 1884, and Edward Hyde decides to have some fun before Jekyll's birthday on January 5th. 
> 
> fun fact: ch 9 is the second shortest thus far

Warm, wet, coppery liquid oozed from the young man’s neck, staining Hyde’s white shirt. So _what if_ he had broken his word? Utterson would have no way of finding out after he deposited the man at a nearby clinic and returned to his own home to drink the draught. It would rather be as if nothing had happened.

The cool air of dusk blew through their clothing and the man shuddered. It was almost the New Year, 1885, and Jekyll’s birthday was in less than two weeks, meaning Utterson would undoubtedly throw a party and invite Lanyon, whom he supposed, for the sake of the Harrisons, he would have to tolerate.

His victim moaned, lips parting as he stared vacantly with half-lidded eyes. Though it was only mid-afternoon, shadows crept heavily about them and the wretch shuddered again

Once satisfactorily gorged, Hyde drew back, yanked the man up by his collar, and examined him a moment. He was pale and shaking with his eyes glazed over, and though blood no longer oozed from the cut on his neck, it stained his own shirt, as well as Hyde’s suit. The dwarf wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve (he found he no longer _needed_ to wear a coat to ward of the winter’s brutal chill) before leading the man away.

Hours later, Poole discovered a note on his Master’s bed that filled his stomach with dread. The writing was a hasty, awful scrawl, quite unlike the good doctor’s usual writing, and it explained that he had some urgent matter pertaining to his will-- he yet insisted on granting Hyde _everything_ in the event of his death-- and would perhaps not return until the following day. When he informed the others, they shared his sense of unease. By now had they certainly learned, that however intimately related their Master and Mr. Hyde appeared to be, they were never to been seen together, and further, that Jekyll’s sudden absence undoubtedly meant Hyde’s presence.  

“If Dr. Jekyll is not at home…” began the Maid, whose eyes screamed of fear, her cheeks ashen. She shuddered.

“--We should prepare for Mr. Hyde!” finished the knife-boy.

Poole quelled the lad’s excitement with a glare. “We musn’t be overhasty… It has been nearly _two months_ since Master Hyde was here, unless…” his wizened face flushed. Their Master’s _private affairs_ belonged to none but **himself** , and yet there **_were_ ** those few weeks where Utterson refused to visit, and when he considered the rash streak of his Master’s youth…

“ _Unless_ , Poole?” queried the maid.

The butler shook his head with a vague look of disgust, as if he meant to dispel some wretched thought. “We mustn’t speak of the Master’s affairs-- it is impolite!”

Taking her cue, Cook excused herself for the evening, muttering something about the inconsistency of their Master’s nature.

The blood Hyde had consumed coursed through him, energizing him as he sauntered through the darkening streets, and yet his body ached for want of sleep. This new existence wore on him. Hunger following the transformations had _certainly_ existed before Dracul attacked him, but it now grew ever-deeper, such that he would certainly faint if he did not immediately seek out-- he _loathed_ to call it **food,** and yet **_food_ ** it was. Even Cook’s spoiling no longer satisfied him. He slipped into the laboratory, down the stairs, and fell asleep in his customary armchair, legs curled up beneath him and head drooping onto his shoulder.

His dreams were content and pleasant: he walked with Utterson, sat with him in a cafe, and perhaps reconciled with Lanyon-- and he and Harrison would be in his laboratory, working on something unique, the lad _growing_ in his endeavours to become **_Dr._ ** Harrison, a brilliant young scientist. He would do everything in his power to prevent the lad from making the same mistakes as he himself had. The scene changed again, and Utterson---

He startled awake at a blood-curdling scream.

The shuffling of feet pounded upon the stairs, each of Jekyll’s servants having woken immediately, dishevelled and bleary-eyed, to discern the source of that wretched scream. Half-fainted, the maid lay propped against an end-table, staring vaguely ahead. Cook crouched down and gave her a gentle shake. “Are y’ alright?”

In response, the maid raised her arm, gesturing vaguely and refusing to look. “Hyde…”

“A light, Bradshaw,” ordered Poole. He turned from the maid and strode forward, squinting through the darkness, and could just make out a vague, crumpled form on one of the armchairs. It had not been their Master’s custom to fall asleep in awkward places about the home for many years, if one excepted his late tendency of sleeping on the laboratory floor.

The footman left and returned a moment later with a lit gas lamp. “Here you are, Sir.”

“Thank-you, Bradshaw. If you wouldn’t mind helping the maid…”

The man nodded, “Of course not, Sir. She has had a shock.”

While Bradshaw and the knife-boy helped the maid stand, Cook moved to stand beside Poole, saying, once the others were out of earshot, “so he’s _not_ dead.”

Hyde opened his eyes slowly, stretched his limbs, let out a long yawn, and drew back, blinking against the harshness of the lamp. For a moment, the pair before him were familiar, nameless strangers-- he _knew_ he had seen them before, been on on familiar terms with them, and regarded them with immense fondness, yet their names and relation to him evaded his immediate memory. He was not married, nor could they be his parents (the woman was far too young for that, and the man appeared no more than ten years his senior) or other relatives (for they all, if they yet lived, resided in Scotland)...

“What are we to do, Poole? He is _drenched_ in the stuff!” The woman, Jekyll’s Cook, exclaimed. Vaguely, he knew she referred to **_him_** , and that she would never have employed such a tone in _Jekyll’s_ presence.

Sighing, the Butler merely shook his head. “I know not… Master Hyde!” he exclaimed as the man fell, face-first, to the floor.

The dwarf waved him off and stood, staying, “Tis nothing, Poole. I wouldn’t wish to _disturb_ your Master.”

After exchanging a quick glance with Cook, Poole returned, “You need not worry about that at the moment, Sir; he is not at home.”

Something wicked shone from Hyde’s eyes. “Is that so? And where might he be? I wish to _speak_ with him.”

“He is not at ‘ome,” the Butler repeated. “We believe he will return sometime in the morning.” He gave the dwarf a quick once-over to assess the staining before offering, “Might we help you clean up, Sir? If the blood is allowed to set too long…”

“Where _is_ he, then? If not at ‘ome…”

Poole blanched. “‘is affairs are of little concern to you, Sir, and you _must_ allow us to wash your clothes--”

Hyde approached the butler, leaving less than an inch between them, and stood on his toes, eyes narrowed, breath hot and metallic on Poole’s face. Aggression gave way to something Poole either _could not_ or _dare not_ identify. Smirking, Hyde reached for the Butler’s collar, grasped it firmly, and dragged him close. “ _Where_ is your Master, Poole? It is _unlike_ him to go anywhere for a long time without your knowledge, _is it not?”_

Cook wrung her hands and cried, “Let go of ‘im, Sir!”

Both men turned towards her and stared a moment, then Hyde let go of Poole’s collar, his features hardening. _“Where_ is your Master, Poole?”

“He is spending the night with Mr. Utterson, Sir. They needed to discuss the good doctor’s will, given _recent developments._ ”

“He is _with_ Gabriel?” Hyde echoed, another smirk creeping over his features. “No, no-- _not_ at the present moment, but in another sense…”

The servants exchanged nervous glances. “Are you _sure_ of that, Sir? Dr. Jekyll left a note…”

Hyde’s wicked little face contorted with laughter.

“Sir?!...”

A moment passed before Hyde regained his composure. “Help me out of these clothes, Poole-- _we musn’t let the stains set,”_ he said before walking off.

\--

_“William,”_ Arabel whispered. She squinted through the darkness as her fiance paced the room, muttering about whatever _Jekyll_ had got into his head. “ _Please._ I know _you_ needn’t sleep, but **_I_ ** must rest, lest I get sick in the morning…”

He stopped suddenly and sank, heavily, onto their shared bed. “Sorry, Belle-- I’ve too much on my mind.”

She inched toward him, smiling softly, and began rubbing his back. “Your family?”

Sighing, he responded, “Dr. Jekyll, in part, but _mostly_ them, yes. My grandfather heard what happened and _he_ wants to visit, regardless, and _especially_ to meet you--”

“I would _love_ to meet ‘im!”

Waving his hand, he smiled a moment before continuing, “He plans on coming soon, although he worries about the cold. But he…”

“‘e’s not who you’re worried about?” she asked, reaching down to hold his hand. She no longer winced at his touch. Though nonetheless still icy, it could calm her through fevers and served as a reminder that he was _still there_ , not just for _her_ but for _their_ _family_.

“...no,” he admitted, finding her eyes in the dark. _Brilliant_ , _kind_ eyes, and of a dazzling green colour that he wished their child would inherit. “My father’s parents were never fond of my father’s marriage, nor of me, and they claim that I am no longer their grandson, but that I have become….. something…. _else.”_

Startled, she asked, _“Where_ did you hear this?!”

“From Davi,” he replied. “They wrote her about a week ago… She’s to have nothing more to do with me, lest she wish to be viewed in the same manner.”

Arabel’s features crunched together in thought. “Do they not have _other_ reasons to regard her thus?”

“They would _certainly_ have disowned her were Aunt Edith still around.”

Wind howled against the window, masking footsteps from without. Both startled as the door opened and Daviana entered, candle in hand, ignoring them as she crossed to the window. Drawing back the heavy, black curtain, she stared silently into the night.

“Aunt Davi?”

She waved him off, muttered under her breath, and leant against the glass as if focused on something neither of them could see.

“Daviana?” Arabel whispered. She let go of William’s hand and stood, groaning, and walked over to the window. “What is it?”

A moment passed before the elder woman responded, “I thought I saw… well, I suppose that does not matter _now_ , does it? “ She turned towards her future niece. _“You_ should be sleeping! No _wonder_ you’re always so sick in the morning! Come,” she insisted, firmly grabbing the girl’s arm and walking her to bed.

“W-”

_“William,”_ Daviana scolded, “you _mustn't_ let her be awake at such an hour! However varied-- though aligned perfectly with all holidays, might I add-- _your_ clock might be--”

Apologetically he responded, “ _Forgive me,_ Aunt Davi. I had a lesson with Dr. Jekyll today, and there learned some rather _unsettlingly_ news regarding his relationship with Mr. Hyde-”

Daviana, meanwhile, had set the lamp on the bedside table and drawn the blankets firmly over Arabel, who tried to wave her off, claiming she was much too warm as is.

“Isn’t that the little fellow you told me about? The _creepy_ one?”

“Well?” Daviana asked. “What of him?”

“‘e _is_ Dr. Jekyll,” William whispered as something thudded against the window and crashed to the ground below.

A dull groan rose upwards, horrible for its very existence. A thick, dark streak ran down the window as if painted on by a practicing artist, yet the crumpled form which they saw through the window was _not_ that of a bird or even a bat, but of a small, shriveled figure which twitched slightly in the grass before stopping, unconscious and bleeding onto the frozen ground.


	10. 51 years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapters starts with the aftermath of Hyde having crashed into the and ends with another major character death. But, hey! Jekyll is now 51! Or, rather, it's his birthday, but he's eternally 50 years old due to the whole vampire thing.

He’d been _drunk_ , and **flying** , and the wind had tickled as he felt his way through the stormy night in search only of an escape from his thoughts-- and fears. Fear. That Poole saw through the guise of Hyde to the _wretch_ beneath, and that he would-- would--

The window appeared out of nowhere. He had _not_ intended to crash into it, nor had he planned on falling to the ground in his chemically-induced form, further breaking his skin on the hard earth. _Lanyon_ , were he there, would have **laughed** . Hyde _himself_ laughed, or chuckled, rather, as he lay on the ground, blood running from his forehead and matting in his hair and mixing with the fallen rain.

“Mr. Hyde!”

He _knew_ that voice but could not, for the moment, place it. Pain radiated throughout his body-- his head throbbed where he bled and he could not move comfortably, preferring instead to remain with his face pressed firmly against the ground. A hand placed itself on his shoulder and gently shook him.

“Mr Hyde?” It was a softer voice now. Younger. He could almost place it--

“Help me with him,” the first voice ordered as it moved closer.

Two pairs of hands placed themselves firmly on Hyde’s back and rolled him over. _Yes,_ he thought, staring through the dark at the pair. _Yes,_ he knew this couple--

 _“He’s_ **_bleeding_** _, Will!”_ Arabel exclaimed. Having seen the pool of Hyde’s blood, she gagged, raising one hand to her mouth as she drew back.

“Go inside, Belle, and ask Daviana--”

“That won’t be necessary-- I am **_fine_ ** , William-- See?” Hyde exclaimed. He sprang suddenly to his feet and grappled for balance, only to fall, face-first, into the lad’s arms.

 _Once Hyde was inside,_ Daviana fussed over the blood matting in his hair and staining his clothes, all the while managing her repulsion at the foulness of his breath-- a sickly metallic scent combined with the harshness of whiskey. She pressed wet towels to his wounds while William sat opposite him.

“I told them the truth of you and Jekyll,” William began.

“That was _not_ **your** job,” Hyde slurred.

“I have a question, if I might ask--” the dwarf made an approving gesture with his hand, and William continued, “Is _Mr. Utterson_ aware of this?”

Hyde’s eyes widened a moment before his expression fell and he replied, in a soft voice that sounded more like Jekyll than anything, “...yes, he found out nearly two months ago. We-- he did not speak to me for nearly a month afterwards. I suppose I had lost his trust.”

“ _I_ could not sleep after the other afternoon in your laboratory, Jekyll, and kept Arabel up nearly half the night--”

 _Jekyll-- Jekyll, Jekyll, Jekyll--_ the name burned in his ears and he shuddered.

 **_“Sit still!”_ ** Daviana ordered, pulling the towel away with a frustrated groan. “I think the bleeding has stopped, but I _cannot_ say it has healed, or even _if_ it will heal.”

Hyde grimaced. _“Thank-you,_ Daviana. I should leave now,” he said. “Thank-you for your hospitality, and I won’t be disturbing you again.” He stood, shook hands with his pupil, waved to both Arabel and Daviana, and set out into the night.

Back home, Hyde felt an overwhelming wave of relief as he drank the transforming draught. Though his limbs still ached, he could move without too much difficulty and if he just ignored the dull throbbing in his temple, his servants would not know anything was amiss.

Massaging his temple, he walked unheeded through the house until encountering Bradshaw, who blanched instantly upon seeing his Master in such a state.

 _“Good Lord,_ Sir! What **_happened?!_ ** ” Bradshaw exclaimed.

“A scratch, Bradshaw-- a scratch,” Jekyll explained, waving a dismissive hand.

 _“That_ does **_not_ ** look like a **scratch** , Sir-- the skin is _bruised!_ ”

Jekyll’s head throbbed. “Tis **_nothing,_** ” he growled, _“and it would be better if ye di nae mention it.”_

With eyes wide, Bradshaw drew back, saying, “Of-- course not, Sir-- shall I fetch Cook?”

“As you wish,” Jekyll returned.

Since his rather **_sudden_ ** illness, Jekyll had not made a public appearance, and he slept often until noon, despite his servants’ best attempts to rouse him. He seemed _younger_ in his sleep. **Peaceful**. His lips, often in a smile. His hair, grey as it had been the last several years, yet with a splash of red that stood out amongst the grey, mimicking a similar _lack_ of color in Hyde’s hair.

He had _changed_ , after all. His aggression and weariness showed themselves more prominently in his expressions; his words were colder, harsher, and spoken with little regard for others, and yet he was, despite it all, the same old Harry Jekyll who could fix anyone with a smile and who acted only for the betterment of society. It was as if _nothing_ had changed.

Utterson could sometimes scarcely believe the truth which had long frightened him. Such actions and attitudes as belonged to Hyde seemed hardly _proper_ for a **gentleman** of Jekyll’s character-- and yet _propriety_ **must** explain that creature’s existence. He was a _bravo_ , borne of Jekyll’s wickedness and allowing him a means of indulgence. The lawyer stared ahead as he waited and wondered how he might enter the laboratory and consume-- _no,_ he would need to _concoct_ the draught himself, acting from memory (as Jekyll had written nothing down) and pray he would not _die_ for such freedom…

Footsteps tore him from his thoughts.

“Are you ready, Gabriel? Or do you need another minute to admire the molding?”

Utterson smiled, admiring Jekyll’s crisp, red-accented suit, then reached forward, saying, “No, Henry; I was just waiting for you. Your _tie_ is crooked.”

“... _thank-you,_ Gabe, although it seems _yours_ is missing entirely!” Jekyll exclaimed, drawing back and triumphantly holding up Utterson’s tie.

The lawyer lunged forward, nearly falling on the stairs as Jekyll evaded him. “Give that _back,_ Henry, or **_I_ ** shall cancel our lunch plans.”

Jekyll ran the fabric between his fingers a moment. “ _Alright,_ Gabriel. Here-- I shall make no fuss. It rather _suits_ you, anyway.”

Utterson accepted the tie with a slight smile.

“Come,” Jekyll ordered, grabbing his love’s hand, “We mustn’t miss our lunch plans.”

After Hyde’s rather abrupt departure of the previous night, Daviana had washed up and gone straight to bed, leaving her nephew and future niece awake and greatly unsettled. William drifted off first, sleeping peacefully. Shortly thereafter, Arabel drifted off into a fitful sleep, hearing the echoes of a body crashing into glass and seeing again and again the bloody pool which surrounded Hyde’s shrunken form, and feeling again and again as if she would gag.

Having woken first, she lay down, staring at the ceiling, one hand on her stomach, the other holding William tight and refusing to let go. **_Why_ ** _did you do this?!_ She demanded, furious-- and again, **_Why?!_ **

Coping with William’s _condition_ drained and infuriated her. They’d had a **_plan_** : he would go to London, study under an established scientist, and work to save money, and she would join him after sufficient time, and together they would start a family. Children. _A_ child-- could they _have_ more? His grandparents’ words echoed in her mind-- that he was _no longer_ William Harrison but rather _something else,_ some _malevolent spirit_ in the shape of William, and she should stay away from him lest she get hurt, and--and--

She squeezed his hand and he muttered, still half-asleep, “Wha’ time is i’?”

She turned towards him and smiled, “I don’t know, love; nigh upon noon, I would think. You’ve been asleep nearly all day, except for when I joined you about an hour ago.”

He blinked, then, “Oh. Is Davi mad?”

Smiling, she returned, “No, I don’t believe she is.”

“Are _you_?”

She scrunched up her features in mock rage. “Why, _yes,_ William. **_Very_ ** mad!”

Suddenly awakened by the tone of her voice, he opened his eyes and stared intensely at her for a moment. Then, smiling, he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “ _Better?”_

“Hmm… _maybe._ I stayed up half the night thinking about _Mr. Hyde_ …”

Will shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Belle; Jekyll knows what he is doing, and we shouldn't have to deal with Hyde again, and if _you_ wish to stay in bed all day…”

“I hope you’re right, Will; I really do.”

He leant forward and kissed her, and they stayed in bed for a few more hours until the baby screamed for want of food and Will decided there was something he need attend to.

Utterson sat at this desk, staring at this appointment book and thinking, _one more day. One more day until Henry’s birthday,_ and the lovely dinner he had planned with the Cook, preceded by a day-- he glanced up at a knock on the door.

“Mr. Utterson?”

“Come in, Harrison. I was just checking my appointment book.” Utterson closed said book, pushed it aside, and greeted the lad with a smile.

“I wish to speak with you about Mr. Hyde,” Harrison stated as he assumed the seat opposite Utterson.

“What of him?”

Harrison hesitated a moment. “He… crashed into my window last night. Hit his head pretty bad; Daviana took care of him, but the mark was still when…”

Utterson sighed. “I know that Jekyll is hurt; I was with him earlier. Tomorrow is his birthday, and--”

“--his servants,” Harrison interjected.

“Sorry?”

“Do they _know_?”

Utterson shook his head. “No, and it is better that way. You found out…?”

“Not too long ago. He was teaching me about certain chemical reactions-- we’d already gone over safety procedures-- when he was struck by a sudden idea. He explained his work, then concocted the potion, and next I knew, I was facing Mr. Hyde. I have not slept well since.”

Utterson nodded. “I _also_ found out rather suddenly and found myself plagued by nightmares. He wrote, and wrote and wrote, but I could _not_ bring myself to respond, let alone read most of the letters. He wanted me to _understand_.”

“The _science_ of it is very complex-- are you alright?”

The question came as Utterson stood, bracing himself against the desk as he stumbled into it. He grimaced. Even with the winter chill, the lawyer appeared far too pale, _much_ more so than he had at the party, and as Harrison helped him resume his seat, he noted that the lawyer was cold.

“You should rest before tomorrow. It won’t do any good if you’re _sick_ …”

Utterson took several deep breaths as his vision returned and his heartbeat slowed. “Rest?” he repeated. His neck itched, but he could not take off his scarf or he would frighten Harrison unnecessarily. “Thank-you for your concern for Jekyll... He’ll be 51, you know.”

“That’s _very_ impressive, given our line of work… especially that he has not seriously harmed himself while working.”

Utterson smiled. “No, he has not. His hands are surprisingly unscarred despite his years of experience.” He waited a moment before asking, “You know when to arrive tomorrow?”

“Yes; half-past 7. Arabel has been working on a cloak-- I asked Poole for his Master’s measurements for her.”

“I am _sure_ he will love it, William. ‘Til then,” he said, reaching out to shake the lad’s hand.

“Farewell, Mr. Utterson.” Harrison took his leave with a smile, though nonetheless concerned for the lawyer’s health.

It was his first birthday in two regards: his dual existence as Hyde and his new state as a vampire. He was elderly, and now eternally so.

The mirrors and their lying facades yet remained covered, with the one in his bedroom having been removed after a rather tragic incident involving his fist and its smooth glass surface-- its _lies_ had sickened and infuriated him, as all that showed in that surface was his attire. He had told Utterson not to worry. Lanyon removed the shards of glass and there were no signs of infection, and _Hyde_ was in no manner involved, thus the lawyer’s worries were unfounded.

“Dr. Jekyll, Sir?”  Poole asked through the door.

“Yes, Poole?” Jekyll returned, staring at the door expectantly.

“Mr. Utterson is here, and Cook has prepared breakfast…”

Jekyll opened the door and found himself greeted by his party of servants huddled in the doorway, each one grinning, with Poole standing in front with his hands clasped before him.

 _“Happy birthday, Sir!”_ they cried. Poole moved aside as Cook offered a large packet of brown paper.

“For you, Sir-- won’t you open it?”

He accepted the packet with a grateful nod and, after sitting on his bed, opened it. A crisp, dark blue shirt greeted him, along with a vividly green bow-tie.

“Mr. Utterson helped choose the tie, Sir,” Cook explained, “and we thought the shirt would match with…”

“Match?” Jekyll echoed.

“Mr. Utterson has a present for you downstairs, Sir, and he is waiting for you at the breakfast table.”

Jekyll nodded, closed the door, and dressed. Utterson had fallen asleep instantly upon reaching Jekyll’s bed, his suit and shoes still on, only his tie pulled off and the top button of his shirt undone. He must have awoken early to help the servants prepare.

His servants were yet unaware of Utterson’s condition. For all they knew, he had a _cold--_ one which rendered him pale and weak, and made it not unusual that he should wear a scarf at all times of the day, despite the roaring fire meant to keep him warm. Yet Jekyll worried. His own case _must_ have been an exception-- the change only happened so fast because of the draught, which he deemed _too dangerous_ for anyone else to consume-- for William had suffered through varying degrees of weakness before finally declining. When would _Utterson_ grow too weak and become bedridden?

“Cook tells me you have a _present_ for me, and that it should _match_ the shirt--”

“Not now, Henry; first, we must eat,” Utterson responded, indicating the table. “Cook prepared your favorites.”

“Of course, Gabe. I’ll need energy to deal with whatever _nonsense_ Lanyon decides to spew forth tonight.”

Much to Utterson’s delight and Jekyll’s dismay, Lanyon had consumed a bit too much alcohol to argue and was in a rather cordial mood throughout the night.

“It is rather _fortunate_ that Mr. Hyde has not made an appearance,” Lanyon said, holding aloft a glass of whiskey and casting a pointed look at Jekyll.

“I don’t _feel_ as thought he would have _any_ reason to be here. It is, after all, _my_ birthday, and he is rather **_averse_ ** to parties.”

Seated beside Arabel, Harrison bit his lip to suppress a smile.

They chatted blissfully for several moments before Lanyon bolted upright, whiskey sloshing onto the seat behind him as he exclaimed, “ _Where_ has Gabriel gone?!”

Arabel drew back with a cry of “goodness!” while her fiancé stared at his mentor with eyes narrowed.

“Worry not, Hastie; he was merely feeling faint and in need of rest.”

Harrison averted his gaze as Lanyon sat back on the wet chair and laughed. “He _has_ been overworking himself, hasn’t he? What with all the scandals…”

A week passed and it was now _Utterson_ who grappled to find his words through a wave of fog-- whose eyes slipped shut if he sat still for a moment too long-- who nearly fainted if he stood for more than a few minutes at a time. But his clients could _not_ fend for themselves, and he refused to let the papers’ blurriness deter him from his paperwork. His eyes slipped shut. Surely, the papers could wait for _one moment_ ….

His office door opened and he turned slowly, a smile forming on his lips. “Henry!...”

Jekyll could not hide the worry he felt. Yet he tried to smile for his lover’s sake, and approached slowly, taking Utterson’s hands in his own. “How are you, Gabriel?”

Despite his weakness, Utterson smiled. “Not _too_ terrible, Henry. It no longer itches.”

“I am glad, Gabriel--”

Utterson gasped suddenly and doubled over, disrupting some of the papers as his head pressed against the desk.

“Gabriel!”

Utterson inhaled sharply and let out a terrible, ragged breath, and did not speak for a heart-wrenching moment.

“Gabe--”

He sat up slowly and forced a smile. “I am _fine,_ Henry-- please, sit,” he asked, indicating the opposite chair.

“What can I do, Gabe?”

 _“Sit with me,_ Henry-- that is all I need.”

Jekyll nodded and smiled despite the tears which formed in his eyes. “Of course, Gabe… of course.”

They sat and talked for a few hours, uninterrupted by clients or other visitors, until Jekyll’s concern choked his breaths because Utterson’s eyes refused to stay open for more than a moment at a time.

“Henry,” Utterson gasped, his eyes snapping open after a few moments. “Henry,” he repeated. He stretched a hand forward, eyes not quite seeing, and squeezed Jekyll’s hand when he found it. “Henry.”

“Yes, my love-- I am here,” Jekyll choked out.

“I-- I love you, Henry…”

Hot, salty tears began to fall from Jekyll’s eyes as his lover’s grip slackened. _“I love you too, Gabriel.”_

He inhaled suddenly and leant back, hand falling away from his lover’s, eyes glazing over. His body slackened and he fell silent.

Jekyll leant forward and his heart leapt into his throat and words failed him. He squeezed Utterson’s hand. _He will return,_ he assured himself, and he leant forward, closed his love’s eyes and pressed a kiss upon his forehead. He then placed a hand on the back of Utterson’s head and drew him closer and pressed his own forehead against that of his lover’s, hot tears still falling as the night drifted into dawn and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

When Mr. Guest arrived, he had been expecting a formal yet polite greeting from his boss, not to be intruding upon Jekyll’s moment of grief.

“Dr. Jekyll, Sir? Is he--?!”

He turned towards the clerk with bloodshot eyes. “Call for Lanyon-- he must declare it,” he replied mechanically.

“Of course, Sir,” Guest said, taking a fleeting look at his boss. “I won’t be long.”

Jekyll carefully unwrapped Utterson’s scarf, placed it about his own neck, and clung to Utterson's hand while he waited.

 _Waiting for the main named_ **Hastie** , he thought, and couldn’t help but laugh.


	11. Ink & Wine & Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jekyll waits, and waits, and waits, for Utterson to return. He grows tired and irritated of the waiting, especially as the Harrison wedding grows near. Huge shout out to ineedarendezvous on Tumblr for helping in the editing process!! also: please leave a comment w/ any feedback you might have!

Jekyll could not breathe.

Utterson was _gone_ \-- **_completely_ ** and **_truly_ ** gone, and it was unknown when he would return. Part of him doubted _if_ he would return.

Mr. Guest had hastened to fetch the doctor, who could merely stare for a moment, tears welling in his eyes at his friend’s lifeless form. No matter how furiously he blinked, he could _not_ suppress them. Wiping his eyes, he stepped into the room, took a deep breath, and placed his hand over Jekyll’s.

“You have to let go now, Henry…”

Jekyll stared at Lanyon’s hand a moment. Then, taking a long look at Utterson, he sighed and let go of his love’s hand. “Harrison,” he croaked.

“What of him?”

“The wounds… on his neck. When did they heal?”

A sigh, then, “After he passed. Are Gabriel’s gone?”

He moved forward to examine Utterson’s neck and found that the wounds _were_ , indeed, missing. “Peculiar… but that does not matter. What are we to do with him?”

Both Jekyll and Guest eyed him suspiciously.

“What do you mean, Sir?”

Lanyon began to pace. “I declared William dead and had him interred- and would have done the same for _you_ , Henry, had you not made such a speedy recovery, and now _Gabriel_ is gone, and **_I’m_ ** to declare it? No,” he stated, and again, “ ** _No_** _.”_

“Don’t be _foolish,_ Hastie-- you cannot claim it was a heart attack, or that he is in a coma-- you are his _friend,_ and understand what is happening to him, and--”

“--he deserves _respect_ , Sirs,” Guest cut in, looking rather sheepish.

“What do you mean?”

Guest swallowed before answering, “He should be buried, as is only fitting, and we can take turns waiting…”

“No,” Jekyll interrupted, standing abruptly. _“I_ shall wait for him.”

Mr. Guest took responsibility for informing Utterson’s clients of the office’s closing, a conciliatory smile masking the pain in his eyes with each hand he shook. He hung a sign on the door before stepping out and locking it. _One week,_ Dr. Lanyon had assured, and then business would resume as normal.

In Dr. Jekyll’s house, however, it seemed as if no sense of normalcy would ever return. Jekyll slunk around as if in a constant trance. The mirrors were still draped over and the curtains still drawn, leaving the house dark and gloomy, rather than the well-lit, welcoming space it had grown known for over decades of hosting parties.

Fighting through his grief, Jekyll arranged a small funeral for that night, in a remote part of the graveyard where no one could see or intrude upon the mourning party.

The words were ancient, the language nearly forgotten on his tongue, mere words nipping at the edge of his memory as he stared at the hard earth. Wine-stained memories were all he could remember. _How does it start?_ He asked himself, and pressing a hand against his temple, he shut his eyes a moment. _Baruch---_ no, no. It had been the night before his Bar Mitzvah and he had gotten drunk off stolen wine because his father had denied him space to grieve his departed mother. The next day, still slightly drunk after having stolen more wine, Jekyll suffered through the ceremony, words slurring off his tongue and his head swimming as he struggled to stand upright. Angry and disappointed, his father gave up on religious teachings after that.

He opened his eyes and stared again at the earth. It had taken force to break. Winter, it seemed, was not the best time for burial-- frost covered the soil and the ground refused to give, and the wind forced their eyes shut as they dug.

Trees sheltered the grave site from view. Lanyon, Guest, and the Harrisons stood nearby, waiting for Jekyll to speak, or move, or do something to acknowledge them. He let out a breath. “I have been trying to remember…” he sighed before continuing, “After my mother died, father insisted on not postponing my Bar Mitzvah-- which Gabe--” the name brought tears to his eyes and a tightness to his throat, but he persisted, “--and Hastie will rightfully remember as a disaster-- and with her gone, none of it seemed important anymore.”

  
Lanyon placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. A moment passed in silence. “Father knew the words to the Kaddish by heart. They were beautiful, coming from him.” Another moment passed, then, “If I could just have a moment...”

“Of course, Henry. Call for us when you’re ready,” Lanyon squeezed his friend’s shoulder before walking off, followed by Guest and Harrison. Arabel remained behind, shivering despite her thick, woolen skirts and shawl and cap, and hesitated a moment before approaching Jekyll.

“I could help you, sir; my father made sure my sister and I know all the prayers by heart, even those for mourning. My grandfather passed last year, and--” Feeling as though she were being disrespectful by rambling, she stopped, biting her lip as she waited for him to respond.

He turned towards her with a broken, wobbling smile. “I would appreciate that very much, Ms. Graeme.”

Smiling, she took his hand in her own and stated, “The Mourner’s Kaddish, then? It starts so: Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba b’alma di-v’ra...”

He mouthed the words as she spoke, the language eliciting some indescribable emotion and sending a chill down his spine, until he found the words tumbling from his mouth and her voice died out, leaving only his voice and the prayer resounding through the darkness.

Utterson was buried. Jekyll wrote to his household, informing the few servants Utterson employed, and also ensuring that Enfield knew not to worry about his cousin. The chemist also informed Poole and the others that he might be gone for a few days and that they needn’t worry, especially if Hyde were to show up again-- he would not bother them, if they promised to do the same.

If he was patient, Jekyll could wait until Utterson returned before seeking out food again-- he _could_ subsist on what he had before, although it sat heavily in his stomach and left him feeling queasy. He resigned himself to teach Harrison during the days in order to stay occupied and visit Utterson at night.

Having consumed the draught, Hyde slipped from the house and walked to the graveyard, where he lay down near the grave with Utterson’s scarf wrapped firmly around himself.

He held the fabric up to his nose and sighed. Only two days had passed so far, yet it already seemed an eternity. He could still smell Utterson in the scarf. How long would that last? He inhaled deeply, basking in the scent of ink and wine and a well-lit, crackling fire, before lowering the scarf and burying his face in the earth.

Hyde slept fitfully that night. It was _agony_ , laying there and waiting for Utterson to return, and he wondered if there was a way to accelerate the process-- the draught must have helped somehow. An injectable form, perhaps, would revive him.

Unless he enlisted the help of Lanyon, the notion of _necromancy_ held no appeal since his knowledge of the human body was so limited, and the few anatomical texts he had had the displeasure of perusing had bored him to sleep. He did not know what he would be doing, nor even where to begin. _Better to play it safe,_ he thought. Utterson would return soon enough.

He dreamed of a distant future. Somewhere where the air was cleaner and no one would bat an eye at the sight of two men holding hands, where he and Utterson could be together without fear, and--

\--in the distant future, there would be no Poole, or Cook, or Lanyon. Their faces each appeared in his mind with a stark vividness before disappearing entirely, only for another to come and go, and yet another, until he found himself floating in front of a mirror whose picture was a distorted image of himself. Light flashed across the surface and the image changed. He couldn’t make it out-- its features were grotesque, neither Jekyll nor Hyde individually, but rather a mixture of both forms, with a wild tangle of faded orange curls-- suddenly, the mirror splintered and shattered and exploded. In his dreams he screamed, and he woke screaming, for his skin felt as if it were on fire.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he stopped screaming and blinked in the bright daylight. It was nearly 10 o’clock and he would be late for his appointment with the young Harrison if he did not head home immediately.

 _“I will return, Gabriel,”_ he told the earth as he stood, his body aching in protest.

He pulled his coat tightly about himself and walked home, slinking in the back and stripping before turning back into himself. Then he dressed in clothes of his own size and left the laboratory, a smile on his lips as he greeted Harrison at the door.

“Dr. J--” the lad started, only for Jekyll to stop him with an upraised hand.

 _“Henry_ , William. Please,” he said, indicating inside.

Harrison stepped inside. Confusion stood plainly on his face as he stared at Jekyll for a moment, noting the bags forming under his eyes. “How are you handling….?”

“I am _fine,_ William,” Jekyll insisted, offering a smile that failed to reach his eyes. “This is not the first time Gabriel has had _business_ to attend to in the country. He will return soon enough.”

Harrison, having spotted Poole standing nearby, could only nod in agreement.

“Come, William. There is work to be done.”

He led the way to the laboratory.

The lad waited for his mentor to speak before saying anything. He knew it must be difficult, just waiting and waiting for the inevitable, and he hoped for everyone’s sake that Utterson would not be gone long.

On a table before them lay several stopped vials of various substances, including mercury, osmium, calcium, and sodium, each carefully labelled with its name and chemical symbol.

“What are you thinking, William?” Jekyll asked in a monotone.

“Only that I hope we do more than just concoct _table salt,_ Henry.”

The slightest hint of a smile formed on Jekyll’s lips.

“Not today, William. I figured we might as well explore various elements and their properties. You will need an apron-- they’re in the cupboard, if you wouldn’t mind grabbing two-- a mask, and gloves. Chemical burns are _not_ pleasant.”

“But your hands are not scarred….”

Jekyll, still smiling faintly, shook his head. “No, but the same cannot be said for my legs…. see, if you’re not careful, certain substances _will_ burn through your clothes to the skin beneath.”

They passed some moments in silence as Harrison retrieved the aprons and both men put on the safety equipment.

Jekyll lifted the vial of sodium and stared at it a moment before stating, “I’ve been meaning to ask: when is your wedding?”

“The 31st. Did you not receive an invitation?”

Another moment of silence passed. Finally, Jekyll replied, slightly embarrassed, “Yes, I-- yes. And the one for Gabriel. If you could seat us together…”

“Belle and I have already seen to that. Would you mind terribly if you were to also sit with Lanyon?”

Jekyll’s grasp on the flask tightened.

“Henry?”

He shook his head. “That would be fine, William. Now, we’ve work to do.” He uncorked the flask and began, ignoring the bewildered look which crossed his pupil’s face.

Hyde spent that night in the graveyard, speaking to the ground where Utterson lay, his impatience growing by the second. All Lanyon could say was to be patient. Utterson had always had rather _fair_ health and there was no reason to doubt that he would make a full recovery.

The _waiting_ was irritating. He lay on layers of snow and ice, not feeling the cold against his skin yet knowing it must still be there, and not caring about the increasing dirtiness of his suit, or the increasing fraying of the cut he’d made in his shirt, right above his heart.  (Ms. Graeme had done him a favor by writing out a few prayers for him, in both Hebrew and English, and he had performed the Kriah-- rending of one’s garments in grief-- after William’s departure that day.)

He shuddered, feeling as if someone were watching him. He growled at the intrusion and whirled around, finding himself at eye-level with the midsection of a tall, cloaked figure.

 _“What_ have you done?” the figure snapped, its face contorted in rage.

Hyde blanched. He balled his hands into fists at his sides and glared despite the dread which settled in his stomach.

Dracul drew closer and repeated in a harsh whisper, _“_ ** _What_ ** _have you done?!”_

Hyde swallowed. _“That_ is **_none_ ** of **your** concern-- _leave_ now.”

The elder vampire ignored him and pushed past to stare at the patch of earth beneath which Utterson lay, a smirk forming on his lips. “He is _yours_ , as _you_ are **_mine_** ,” he rasped, waving an arm behind him and knocking Hyde to the earth. The force knocked the wind out of him, and he thought he heard a crack as he crashed down, and taking a deep, shuddering breath, he swore mental oaths against Dracul.

 _“Remember that,”_ Dracul ordered as he walked past a doubled-over Hyde.

Three days dragged into one week, which in turn became a week-and-a-half, until two weeks passed and there was still no Utterson.

He took his time in returning-- was it his _age_ , regardless of his health, that so delayed his return? Either way, it left Jekyll with no desire to retain the visage of a perfect gent. Thus, before dusk he lured a prostitute into an alley and drank deeply of her blood, leaving her dazed as he staggered into the street, his mouth and shirt stained from the feast.

The sun was setting and people were walking home from work, from the theatre, from dinner parties, and it wasn’t long before they noticed Jekyll and a general wave of concern arose at seeing him in such a state. Hands reached for him, asking if he was alright. One or two voices shouted at him, calling him a monster, yet no one dared to touch him for more than a moment, as they feared the disease would spread and they, too, would become monsters.

He kept walking. No one followed him to the graveyard, where he lay down and closed his eyes, staying as still as possible until sleep claimed him. It was again fitful. He saw Utterson, newly transformed and angry at him for having been turned, turning away and walking off-- they _would_ live an eternity, albeit _separately_ and not together-- and Lanyon stood nearby, gloating at Jekyll for meddling with what he did not understand.

_Ring. Ringring ring!_

He stirred at the ringing of a bell. Groggily, he dismissed it as unimportant and began to fall back asleep. _No, no,_ he assured himself; for he and Gabe had a long history, and it would do no good to let such unfounded fears consume him. He was barely asleep when the bell sounded again, louder and more aggressive.

**_Ringringringringringring!_ **

Below, Utterson waved his arm agitatedly. _Jekyll,_ he thought desperately. He pounded on the lid of the coffin.

Above, Jekyll realized that the ringing was Utterson alerting him that he was _finally_ awake, and he jumped to his feet and ran to Lanyon’s.

 _“Hastie!”_ he exclaimed, still covered in blood.

“Come inside, Henry, and clean yourself up,” Lanyon ordered.

“Gabriel is awake! We must--”

Lanyon silenced him with a glare. “Your _face_ , Henry. Did you walk here like that?”

His butler helped Jekyll clean up before the two men, accompanied by Harrison, headed to the graveyard, armed with shovels and a bottle of whiskey. Within an hour had they unburied Utterson, opened the casket, and helped him to his feet in the fading daylight.

“Gabriel--” he startled as his lover tripped and fell into his arms. Utterson’s skin was ashen, his brown hair was greasy and standing up in all directions, and his clothes smelled of the cold, damp earth.

“Henry!” Utterson smiled weakly and used Jekyll to help himself stand.

“It’s good to have you back, Gabe,” Lanyon spoke, offering a smile.

Utterson glanced at Lanyon a moment, his eyes narrowing. “I-- it’s good to be back, Hastie, but, _Henry--_ ” he refocused on Jekyll before stating, “I’m _starving_.”

Jekyll squeezed his hand and led him off, followed by Harrison.

Lanyon sighed and turned towards the opened casket and the dirt surrounding it, knowing _someone_ would have to clean it up, and sighed again as he took up a shovel and began to cover the hole with dirt.


End file.
